


Unabashed

by sciencefictioness



Series: Unabashed [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Casual Sex, Come Eating, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mild Gore, Scion Hanzo Shimada, Sort Of, Temporary Character Death, Undercover Missions, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: “Not that I ain’t happy about where this is going, but I’m a fuckin’ mess.  You don’t want me wash up first? And I still ain’t got your name, beautiful.”Hanzo pulls the tie from his hair, letting it fall loose around his face and spill over his shoulders.  Jesse slides a hand up his side and tangles his fingers in it, like he can’t quite help himself.Behind enemy lines, playing a perilous game, and still Jesse is losing himself, his world realigning with Hanzo at its center.Hanzo preens under the attention, powerful like he only ever is with someone underneath him.Begging, or bleeding, or calling his name.





	1. Alias

The stars are beautiful so far from the city, with no light pollution to take away from their splendor, nothing but scrub land for miles and miles in every direction.  Hanzo might be able to appreciate it on another day, in another situation. The eerie allure of the sky, the landscape so far from what he’s used to that it feels alien, everything stark and harsh.

 

In the middle of the night, surrounded by a dozen twitchy mercenaries watching him anxiously, much of the spectacle is lost on him.  

 

Talon is eager for his approval, and their nerves become more and more apparent the longer they spend out in the desert.  They shift in place, and shoot him wary glances, like they’re waiting for him to snap at them. He would have been better off staying in the city at their base, where there is cool air and fresh sake and a soft bed, but he needs to keep up appearances.  To pretend he’s actually interested in an alliance, concerned with their day to day operations, and not just using Talon as an excuse to escape Hanamura for a while. The elders are more stifling than ever since Sojiro’s passing, and Hanzo can’t resist the chance to be out from under their watchful gaze, however briefly.

 

Leaving Genji in charge in his stead was satisfying beyond measure, if only for the looks on the elders’ faces.  He will drive them crazy, but he knows better than to push them too far or do any lasting damage while Hanzo is gone.

 

A coyote yips in the distance, a forlorn, unsettling sound, and Hanzo sighs, and lights another cigarette.  

 

Their contact should have arrived hours ago, and Hanzo rolls his shoulders, more to feel the reassuring weight of his bow on his back than from any real soreness.  His suit is stifling even without the jacket, palms sweating beneath his gloves, and putting his hair up hasn’t helped cool him down. Dust creeps into his clothes, itching against his scalp, rasping over his skin.  Ever present, slowly eroding Hanzo’s patience as surely as it’s cutting through the rocks of the canyon around them.

 

“How much longer before we’re calling this a bust?  Think our boys got intercepted somewhere between here and Espina like last time?”  

 

Hanzo can’t remember the mercenary’s name, can’t be bothered to learn them all, but he’s either very new or very stupid.  Perhaps both, if the way his commander is glaring at him is any indication. Hanzo is sure they were all lectured on the importance of appearing competent in front of him, and he knows the soldier in question will likely be ripped into later on, when no one else is there to hear.

 

“Osvita.  Perimeter check,” the commander says, and the mercenary sighs.

 

Doing a perimeter check of ten square miles of desert at midnight is useless, and he can see the reprimand for what it is, but doesn’t argue as he moves out.

 

Hanzo is ready to call it himself, commandeer one of their vehicles and return to the base, when there is a squawk on someone’s radio, followed by a static-ridden voice.

 

“Payload inbound, coming in hot.  Three hostiles in pursuit. Threat negligible.”

 

Only then does Hanzo notice the cloud of dust rising in the distance, antigrav units stirring it worse than a set of tires ever could as their connection barrels closer.  A second vehicle is racing behind them, gang members with painted faces hanging out the windows, staccato bursts of gunfire spitting wildly from the barrels of ragged submachine guns.  None of their shots are hitting, or even coming close, and nobody seems overly concerned. One of Talon’s foot soldiers readies his weapon, looking down his sights with intent, but doesn’t take the shot.

 

“Want me to light ‘em up, sir?”  

 

The commanding officer sighs, a sound that’s troublingly familiar, if entirely out of context.

 

A sigh he’s given Genji more times than he can remember, all weary exhaustion laced with undeniable fondness.

 

“You really think that’s going to be necessary?”

 

As if on cue a figure appears, leaning out of the window of the first car, the red bandana around his neck flapping in the wind.  He’s wearing a cowboy hat, left hand splayed over the top to keep it from flying off his head. Hanzo watches him raise a weapon with his other hand, a revolver of some sort, ancient looking and glinting silver in the harsh illumination of the headlights he’s facing.  

 

There’s no way it’s accurate from the kind of range he’s attempting to fire from, even standing still, let alone bouncing along an uneven desert road at fifty miles an hour on dubious antigrav units.  As they near, and slow, Hanzo can see his arm bouncing up and down, too, body jostling back and forth as the driver does their best to avoid the worst of the rocks and potholes in their path. Wasted bullets, Hanzo thinks, firing from the hip just like the foolish men in pursuit.

 

Some people don’t know when to give up, and Hanzo can’t decide if the trait is admirable, or idiotic.

 

Then the man with the revolver grins, his right eye lighting up unnaturally bright, and it’s not nanotech, or a visor, or anything else so mundane.  His iris glows crimson, visible in spite of the headlights no doubt blinding him, and Hanzo’s breath catches, dragons stirring underneath his skin.

 

The rumble of one predator recognizing another, and he narrows his gaze, unable to look away.

 

Magic doesn’t feel like the right word, but it doesn’t feel like the wrong one either.

 

The man says something, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the payload’s engine, drowned out by noisy bursts of ineffectual gunfire from his pursuers.

 

His grin goes wider, the muzzle of his weapon flashing as he fires, louder and more decisive than the rattle of the submachine guns.  Impossibly fast, one bullet after another, and Hanzo stares in disbelief as all three gangsters collapse in unison. A round must hit their vehicle somewhere important, because it stutters, antigrav units strobing and blinking out before it can careen out of control.  The truck slams into the ground at an odd angle and rolls, again and again, eventually burying itself upside down in a nearby dune.

 

Everything is calm for a handful of seconds, smoke rising from the wreckage of the gangster’s truck and coiling lazily into the night.

 

Then someone is swearing in Spanish, and Hanzo looks up to see two men climbing out of the payload’s cab.  The man in the cowboy hat is still smiling, hopping out the window while the driver rounds on him, hands flying in angry gestures.  

 

“You couldn’t have done that two miles back before we were down a grav pod and leaking coolant?  Goddamnit, Jesse!” 

 

The driver gives Jesse a rough shove, and Jesse lets him, unbothered.

 

“I can’t force it outta nothin’, and where’s the fun if there ain’t nobody around to watch, anyway?”

 

The driver shoves him again and stalks off, muttering profanities under his breath, and Jesse shouts after him.

 

“Awww, don’t be like that!  Josie!”

 

Josie is tacitly ignoring him, giving what sounds like a vague report to one of the nearby mercenaries.  Jesse doesn’t seem troubled by his anger, spitting blood into the dirt by his feet, and it should be repulsive, but it isn’t.  Only then does Hanzo notice Jesse’s split lip, the rusty smear of gore across his throat, the hint of a bruise blossoming on one cheekbone.  His knuckles are busted, and he’s worse for wear, but Jesse laughs as he pulls his hat off. He runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to untangle it that only leaves it wilder, but it suits him somehow.

 

Hanzo hasn’t even met him and already can’t imagine him any other way.  

 

Jesse looks up and finds Hanzo’s gaze on him.  He freezes for a moment, and then winks, clearly thinking Hanzo will fluster at being caught staring.  Hanzo rakes his eyes over him instead— lascivious, looking his fill, because Jesse is broad shouldered and muscled and deadly in a way that has nothing to do with the gun on his hip.  His jeans are torn, and dirty, and his boots have seen better days, but his gun belt looks pristine. There are flashbangs dangling from it, and Hanzo clocks how odd it is, such high end gear on what appears to be a low rent gangbanger.  He pushes the thought away, because it isn’t really important right now.

 

Not as important as the blatant interest on Jesse’s face when Hanzo finally meets his eyes again, and Hanzo cocks his head to the side, and doesn’t look away.  

 

Casual hookups have no place in Hanamura, not with the elders watching his every move, ready to use anything at their disposal to try and manipulate him.  If he started fucking every man who caught his interest he’d be up to his ears in liabilities, not to mention being forced to listen to them prattle on about the importance of heirs, and the sanctity of the Shimada name.  Hanzo heard the lecture enough during his teenage years to last a lifetime, directed at both him and Genji. It’s not worth it, one night of carnality weighed against the bullshit he’d have to wade through afterwards.

 

But there are no elders here, and this cowboy is tall and filthy and handsome.  Beautiful, in the same stark, rugged way the desert is, and Hanzo wants him more than he can remember wanting anything in quite some time.  

 

The Talon commander calls his name from the back of the payload, motioning Hanzo over to show him something.  The rest of his mercenaries are milling around, ready to move out, Jesse’s driver already climbing into the back of a nearby truck with some of the others.

 

“Cowboy,” Hanzo says, pointing at Jesse, dragons hungry in his flesh, “you stay.”

 

It’s commanding, the thoughtless tone of someone used to being obeyed without question, and Jesse grins again, setting his hat over his heart with a shallow bow.

 

“Anything for you, doll face,” he answers, and Hanzo catches Josie throwing them both dubious looks, but ignores it.

 

He heads toward the Talon commander without a backwards glance, feigning interest in the cache of guns and body armor they’d been waiting on.  The goods are quality, but nothing fancy enough to justify the hassle of acquiring it. The clan has better weapons, sleeker armor, higher tech munitions.  Anyone else might be impressed, but Hanzo is just bored, and ready to be done with this charade. He nods his approval, and talks back and forth with the commander about supply lines and import challenges, claiming he needs to convene with the elders before finalizing any decisions.

 

It’s a lie, but he would prefer to be safely back in his own territory before Talon decides he is an obstacle, rather than an ally they are courting.

 

When Hanzo is finally done discussing the irrelevant details of Talon’s maritime assets, and how they relate to the Japanese arms trade, the rest of the crew is packed up and ready to go.

 

Save Jesse, who is lingering closer than necessary, gaze a bit too keen on the guns Hanzo is inspecting for one of Talon’s hired errand boys.  Josie is conversing with the other mercs, but keeps a careful eye on Jesse, and Hanzo almost misses it, the wordless gesture he makes, a barely noticeable flick of his fingers below his waist.

 

Almost misses Jesse returning it, the gesture similar but slightly different, signing swiftly when he thinks no one is looking.  It seems absent, as though he’s dusting off his clothes, maybe, but Hanzo recognizes signals when he sees them.

 

These men are definitely working for someone other than Talon, other than whatever ragtag gang they’re supposed to hail from, and Hanzo fights down a smirk, because it’s obvious.  It’s  _ obvious,  _ but Talon has written them off as low-level goons, and then ignored them entirely.  They’ve underestimated them so dramatically that it allows them to be sloppy without repercussion— to carry gear above their pay grade, to gather intel without being overly cautious, to communicate with only the barest hint of subtlety.  

 

There are a myriad of reasons Sojiro did not want to team up with Talon when he was alive, and this is one of them.  They are dangerously careless, overconfident in themselves when they’ve little reason to be, and Hanzo is glad he doesn’t need to pursue this faux alliance for long, even if it means returning to Hanamura sooner than he’d like.

 

He can always come up with other reasons to stray from home.

 

None of this has any bearing on his plans for the evening, other than making them a bit more interesting, perhaps.  Hanzo doesn’t care who Jesse is working for, really, if he’s military or Interpol or informing for one of Talon’s rivals.  It makes no difference to Hanzo, not when all he needs is a warm, willing body in his bed.

 

He gets the commander’s attention and nods towards Jesse, raising a brow in question.

 

“Do I need to seek alternate lodgings if I intend on having company for the evening?”

 

The commander glances at Jesse, then back at Hanzo, and huffs a laugh.

 

“That won’t be necessary, sir.  If it was a civilian, we’d ask you relocate to a hotel, but he’s one of ours.”

 

_ He’s not,  _ Hanzo thinks, but he’s not about to out his pretty cowboy to their mutual enemy when there’s nothing to gain from it.  He finds Jesse smoking a cigarette, eyes alight with something like glee, thumb shoved into one of his belt loops.

 

“Intend on having company, do ya now, sweetheart?”  Jesse drawls, but he’s smiling, openly looking Hanzo up and down.  Hanzo reaches out and grabs him by the belt buckle, an oversized, gaudy monstrosity, and tugs him forward until they’re scarcely an inch apart.  He bites his bottom lip, and plucks Jesse’s cigarette from his fingertips, taking a leisurely drag.

 

“What do you say, cowboy?  I find myself in need of some of your… what is it they call it?  Southern hospitality?”

 

Jesse trails his fingers up Hanzo’s throat, humming appreciatively, using one thumb to lift Hanzo’s chin.

 

“Mmmm.  Think we could work something out, darlin’.  I‘m feelin’ real hospitable.”

 

Hanzo smiles, something sharp and full of teeth, and the ride back to Talon’s base feels infinitely longer with Jesse’s fingers rubbing circles on his thigh.

 

-

 

Hanzo takes his time walking through the base.  He lets Jesse linger, slowing their pace so he can take stock of the place for whatever employer is signing his paychecks.  So Jesse can catalogue their security, get a rough idea of the layout of the building, any other details he might be able to suss out as they meander through the hallways.  It’s not as though Hanzo has any particular loyalty to Talon, and the information Jesse gains won’t be put to use until long after Hanzo is gone. 

 

When they reach Hanzo’s quarters he locks the door behind him, throwing a haphazard glance around the room.  Someone has been there since he left; tidied up the place, changed the sheets, emptied the trash. All his belongings are untouched, which isn’t surprising, Talon has been nothing but respectful of him during his stay.

 

There are also several boxes of condoms and a bottle of lubricant on the nightstand, which  _ is  _ surprising.  They definitely hadn’t been there before, and Hanzo is vaguely impressed at their attention to detail, even if it reeks of desperation.  He pulls his bow off and leans it against the wall next to the bed, kicking off his shoes, socks following afterwards. Tosses his quiver on the floor, arrows rattling around but not shaking free.  Jesse pokes through the illicit supplies on Hanzo’s nightstand, and picks up one of the boxes, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“Expectin’ a pleasant evening, were we?” he asks, and Hanzo laughs, more a rough exhale than anything.

 

“They overheard our discussion, and sent someone after what I needed, I’m assuming.  They’re nothing if not overzealous in their attempts to sway me to their cause. Lose the gear, cowboy,” Hanzo adds, motioning vaguely to Jesse’s gun belt as he continues undressing himself.  He doesn’t think accidentally setting off a flashbang would make for a good time, and Jesse obliges, laying his weapons in a careful pile next to his discarded boots.

 

“‘They’ huh?  You ain’t working for Talon?”  

 

It’s deliberately casual, like he doesn’t care either way, but Hanzo can hear the interest hidden underneath.  

 

“Talon wants to be working for me, technically.  But I’m not all that interested in talking about business right now,” Hanzo says, splaying a palm out on Jesse’s chest and shoving him down on the bed.

 

Jesse goes without complaint, moving up the mattress until he can lean against the headboard.  He’s taken off his belt and shoes, but otherwise remains fully dressed, his dirty clothes and bloody face out of place in the pristine cleanliness of Hanzo’s quarters.

 

Everything in Hanzo’s world is always so carefully sterile, and getting his hands dirty is beyond satisfying, with or without bloodshed.

 

Jesse seems inordinately pleased to find himself with a lapful of Hanzo, naked but for his unbuttoned shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  Jesse licks his lips, palms moving to clutch at the meat of Hanzo’s ass, fingers kneading appreciatively. His eyes are restless, like they can’t decide where to settle, flitting from Hanzo’s face down over his chest, his dragon tattoo, the muscles of his abdomen.

 

The jut of his cock, uncut and thick, half-hard already as it bobs between them.

 

Jesse meets Hanzo’s eyes again, grinding up into him in an absent way, as though he’s not entirely aware that he’s doing it.

 

“Not that I ain’t happy about where this is going, but I’m a fuckin’ mess.  You don’t want me wash up first? And I still ain’t got your name, beautiful.”

 

Hanzo pulls the tie from his hair, letting it fall loose around his face and spill over his shoulders.  Jesse slides a hand up his side and tangles his fingers in it, like he can’t quite help himself.

 

Behind enemy lines, playing a perilous game, and still Jesse is losing himself, his world realigning with Hanzo at its center.

 

Hanzo preens under the attention, powerful like he only ever is with someone underneath him.

 

Begging, or bleeding, or calling his name.

 

“It’s Hanzo.  And if I want you to do something, cowboy,” he says, stealing Jesse’s hat and putting it on, “I’ll tell you.”

 

Jesse is silent for a moment, flushing hot and dumbstruck before he gathers himself with a smirk.

 

“Bossy,” he says, and Hanzo reaches down to cup Jesse through his jeans, rubbing the heel of his palm against the unmistakable bulge there.  Jesse’s big enough that Hanzo’s mouth waters at the feel of him, thighs flexing in anticipation, want roiling in Hanzo like storm clouds.

 

Heavy, and powerful.  Banked for too long, ready to break free.

 

“You seem to like it well enough,” Hanzo answers, looking down his nose at Jesse as he works him through his clothes.  Jesse hand strays from Hanzo’s hair to grope at his chest, and thumbing over his nipple, and when he speaks again his voice is strained.

 

“Reckon it suits you.  The hat, too. Think it looks better on you than me, sweetheart.”

 

“Of course it does,” Hanzo says, and Jesse opens his mouth to reply, but they’ve done enough talking.

 

Hanzo kisses him hard.  Presses his tongue between Jesse’s lips, licking into him, swallowing the rumble of Jesse’s moan.  His mouth is hot, and tastes faintly of blood. Hanzo can smell gunpowder, and sweat. The smoke of unfamiliar cigarettes, the faintest hint of cologne, barely detectable under the rest.  His hands are strong and calloused, rough on the softness of Hanzo’s skin, and Hanzo’s dragons are roaring in his ears.

 

Jesse is dangerous.  Sharp, full of edges— a threat, as surely as Hanzo himself is a threat.

 

_ Worthy, _ his dragons insist too loudly to be ignored, and Hanzo bites Jesse’s bottom lip and revels in the hiss it earns him.

 

Something in Jesse snaps, and falls away, because his hands are all over Hanzo now.  Up his spine, under his shoulder blades, back down the over hips. Down further, past his thighs, and Jesse hooks his hands behind Hanzo’s knees and tugs him closer.  Then Jesse takes two generous handfuls of Hanzo’s ass, and guides him into a slow rhythm, both of them rocking together. He murmurs into Hanzo’s lips, praise that should be meaningless, but makes Hanzo writhe.

 

“Christ alive, you’re gorgeous darlin’, feel so nice... taste even better, goddamn.”

 

He keeps talking, mumbling things too saccharine and sweet for what they’re doing together, but Hanzo is having a hard time focusing on the words when the rest of Jesse is so overwhelming.

 

The scrape of Jesse’s jeans against Hanzo’s cock is harsh, and delicious, and Hanzo slips his hands under the hem of Jesse’s shirt to scratch through the thick trail of hair on his belly.  He’d like to suck Jesse off, to bury his nose in the dark curls he’s petting and breathe in the musky scent there, but there’s an urgency in him that doesn’t have the patience for it.

 

Not with the promise of something better, and Hanzo leans over to fumble blindly for the bottle of lube on the nightstand without breaking their kiss.  He locates it without issue, but the cap is sealed in plastic, and Hanzo pulls away from Jesse to open it with his teeth.

 

Jesse takes the opportunity to mouth his way down Hanzo’s jaw to his throat, biting down hard enough to bruise, then licking messy over the sting.  His fingers are teasing deeper between Hanzo’s cheeks, pushing them together and then pulling them apart again as he ruts up into Hanzo. The tips of his middle fingers brush the edge of Hanzo’s hole, like he wants to touch but isn’t sure he’s allowed.

 

Pressing his luck, inch by inch.  

 

Jesse seems like the kind of man who’s spent his whole life pushing, waiting for someone to push back.

 

By the time Hanzo gets the bottle open there are at least a half dozen hickies on his neck, and Jesse is rubbing insistent circles against his hole, hips moving in time with his fingers.  Hanzo bats Jesse’s hand away, and pours lube over his own fingers before reaching back and slipping two of them into himself. He moans at the feeling, taking a moment to relax into it, lids fluttering closed.

 

He hasn’t fucked anyone since he left Japan, hasn’t had the inclination to do anything more than get off in the shower once or twice, and the stretch is so good he can’t find his voice right away.

 

“God, you’re a sight, ain’t ya?” Jesse says, leaning forward to peer over Hanzo’s shoulder, watching him with rapt attention as his wrist twists and moves.  

 

“I’ve got this, cowboy,” Hanzo replies, working himself open with brutal efficiency and nodding towards the bedside table, “make yourself useful.”

 

Hanzo unbuttons Jesse’s jeans with his other hand, pulling Jesse free of his boxers while he rifles through the condoms to find what he needs.  Jesse’s cock is a beautiful thing, heavy in Hanzo’s hand, uncut and leaking precome from his flushed crown. He gives it a few strokes, jerking Jesse off lazily as he nudges a third finger into himself.  It goes easily, his body taking everything he’s giving it and aching for more. Jesse’s punched out groan is drugging, and he’s arching eagerly up into Hanzo’s fist, and tearing open a condom with his teeth.

 

It’s tangible, how much Jesse wants this, and Hanzo can almost taste it in the air between them.  More dragon than man, and it’s been ages since Hanzo has become like this, running on instinct and ready to growl.

 

Hanzo is as ready as he wants to be, and he withdraws his fingers with a sigh.  They’re filthy, shining with lube, and Hanzo fights the urge to wipe them off on Jesse’s clothes.  Jesse holds out the condom, a lopsided grin on his face, and Hanzo takes it, rolling it quickly down over him.  Once it’s on Hanzo strokes Jesse again, tight but teasing, making sure the condom is snug and in place. 

 

Jesse exhales rough, and arches, sucking in air through his teeth.

 

“Baby you keep that up, and I ain’t gonna make it to the main event,” Jesse says, and Hanzo huffs, and releases him.

 

The lube is still rolling around on the bedspread, dripping and sticky, and Hanzo picks it up to drizzle some more on Jesse’s shaft.  He clicks the bottle closed afterwards and sets it on the nightstand, lifting up onto his knees, reaching back to hold Jesse’s cock steady.

 

Hanzo waits there, hovering in place with only the tip of Jesse’s crown breaching him, just to drink in the desperate sound he makes.

 

Then he sinks down, faster than he probably should, but unable to resist the inexorable slide of Jesse filling him up so completely.

 

Pressing his luck, inch by inch, and Hanzo whines low in his throat like he’s wounded.  It’s good, it’s too good, and Jesse pets up and down his thighs with one hand, strokes his spine with the other.  Like Hanzo is a skittish animal that needs soothing, and it should be irritating. Condescending. Instead it’s endearing, somehow, this rugged giant of a man shushing him and nuzzling into his throat.  As though Hanzo is breakable, when he’s anything but.

 

People placated Hanzo, or pleaded for his leniency, or fell all over themselves to gain his favor.

 

Hanzo can’t remember the last time someone tried to  _ soothe  _ him.  Can’t remember ever actually needing to be soothed, and Hanzo closes his eyes, and seats himself fully on Jesse’s cock.

 

“Oh sugar,” Jesse bites out, and Hanzo gives them both a moment to adjust.  Lets Jesse kiss his cheek, and cling, and shake.

 

Then he starts moving, and there’s no more room for mercy.

 

Hanzo rides Jesse like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do, bracing his hands on Jesse’s shoulders and rolling his hips sinuously.  Jesse swears, hissing out profanities and bucking up into Hanzo as best he can, face tucked into Hanzo’s throat. The slide of Jesse’s cock in him is searing, and Hanzo’s head lolls back on his shoulders as he fucks himself with abandon.  He isn’t quiet, never has been, doesn’t see any reason to start now. 

 

None of the people here matter, not in the slightest, and he doesn’t feel guilty about subjecting them to the noise.  Hanzo moans, burying a hand in Jesse’s hair, using it as leverage to take him faster, deeper, harder. He scratches his nails down Jesse’s chest, leaving vicious red streaks in his urgency.  It’s incidental, not anything he does deliberately, but something ancient in him is pleased with the sight. 

 

He waits for Jesse to respond in kind, to bite him, or flip him over.  To take him with the brutality Hanzo can sense running through Jesse’s veins, a ruthlessness that lives under his skin, but it doesn’t happen.

 

The rougher Hanzo is, the gentler Jesse becomes in response.  Hanzo digs in his nails, and Jesse brushes kisses over his shoulder.  Hanzo pulls his hair, and Jesse shoves his face in Hanzo’s throat, breathing in, hands light and affectionate everywhere they touch. 

 

Maybe it is Hanzo who has spent his whole life pushing, but Jesse doesn’t push back. 

 

Just takes what Hanzo gives him, and aches for more.

 

It’s disarming, and Hanzo’s orgasm takes him by surprise.  Crawls up his spine, and buries him in sensation. He hides his face in Jesse’s hair, and shivers through it, hot stripes of come landing messy on Jesse’s clothes.

 

Jesse follows after, calling Hanzo’s name, fucking into him hard with his arms wrapped around Hanzo’s waist.  Tight, like he’s afraid Hanzo will get away somehow, but if anything the opposite is true.

 

Hanzo’s not going to let Jesse out of his bed for a long, long time.

 

-

 

They fuck twice more before Hanzo is satisfied, dawn light creeping through the tiny opaque window of Hanzo’s quarters, both of them drowsy as they smoke cigarettes together in the tangled sheets.  Hanzo lays on Jesse’s chest, eyes trying to close as Jesse’s fingers pet through his hair, body sore in the best ways. He’s going back to Japan today, and he’ll be feeling Jesse long after he’s back home, will be wearing his marks for days and days.  

 

Carrying this moment with him, long after it has passed.

 

It would be easy to fall asleep like this, warm and sated in Jesse’s embrace, but Hanzo needs to shower more than he needs rest.  He sits up, snuffing out his cigarette and standing. Jesse’s eyes linger on him as he stretches, and there’s still heat in his gaze, even after so many hours spent in Hanzo’s bed.  Hanzo smiles, unable to hold his tongue— sex drunk, and smug, too pleased with himself.

 

“So what will you tell your superiors when you report back?”

 

Jesse furrows his brows, and feigns confusion, like he doesn’t know what Hanzo means.

 

“You mean Talon?  Or Deadlock?”

 

Hanzo laughs, running a hand through the mess of his hair and smirking.

 

“Talon is full of fools if they haven’t figured you out yet.  I don’t know who you’re working for, but I know it isn’t Talon, or some trashy biker gang.  You and your associate are far from subtle, though I’d wager that’s Talon’s fault for making things so easy on you.”  Hanzo shrugs, leaning against the bathroom door. “It’s of no importance to me, though I am curious as to whether or not I’ll feature in your report.  Are you a gentleman, cowboy? Do you kiss and tell?”

 

Jesse looks caught, and Hanzo takes mercy on him, and heads into the bathroom.

 

“You’re welcome to join me,” he calls, turning the water up as hot as he can stand it and stepping under the spray.

 

His room is empty when he’s finished, and Hanzo isn’t surprised to see Jesse gone.  Spooked, and running; Hanzo doesn’t blame him.

 

He would be running, too, if he were Jesse.

 

There is a flashbang on the nightstand holding down a slip of paper, a note scrawled on it in abysmally bad handwriting.  It’s barely legible, but Hanzo can make it out.

 

_ One of yours for one of mine, you’re stunning doll face, xoxo _

 

One of Hanzo’s sonic arrows is missing.

 

He doesn’t even mind.

  
  



	2. Conceal

It isn’t hard to track Jesse down.

  


Hanzo goes home, and it’s less stifling than he remembers, less suffocating.  Being away has done him good, and it’s easier to wave off the elders’ endless meddling, easier to ignore their constant dissent.  

  


Easier to breathe within walls that so often feel like a prison, instead of a refuge.

  


There is nowhere else on earth where Hanzo is both utterly safe, and utterly vulnerable.  His clan protects him, but it is a double edged sword, one Hanzo is still learning how to wield without cutting himself.  

  


Without cutting  _ Genji. _

  


Sojiro made it look easy.  Hanzo has been preparing for this all his life, but it’s not as simple as he’d expected it to be, not as intuitive.  

  


There are vultures in Hanamura, ready to eat Hanzo alive if he isn’t careful.  The enemies he faces outside his walls are nowhere near as treacherous as those within them.

  


Genji is no worse for wear, teasing Hanzo about the hickies Jesse left, demanding details as he always does despite the fact that Hanzo never tells him anything about his partners.  It’s more fun to leave Genji wondering, to listen to his theories about who Hanzo has been with. A Talon operative, an American prostitute, a high ranking gangster.

  


He’s right, and also wrong, but Hanzo isn’t going to correct any of his assumptions.  Genji will get bored eventually, and Hanzo doesn’t mind listening to him ramble. It’s tiresome when he’s working, but the elders have been trying harder and harder to cause a rift between the two of them, and Hanzo refuses to allow it.  

  


They’re afraid of Hanzo and Genji.  Afraid of them separately, but more afraid of them together.

  


Scared of just how little power they truly hold, how impossible it is to manipulate Hanzo with Genji at his back.  So Hanzo keeps him there, and lets him do as pleases for the most part, because Genji is at his best without the hindrance of a leash.

  


Put a leash on something wild, and it pulls, desperate to break free.

  


Talon had Hanzo’s room at their base under surveillance, because of course they did; he expected nothing else from them.  The footage was hijacked by his people and deleted from Talon’s servers before Hanzo even left their facility, uploaded to his own files for his perusal.  He watches the feed once before he does anything else, unable to resist the temptation. Jesse is no less magnetic on the flickering screen of Hanzo’s tablet, and he lets it play in the privacy of his room.  Listens to the sounds they made, teeth in his bottom lip, one hand in his clothes.

  


Hanzo refuses to feel ashamed.  

  


He outsources the work of running Jesse down to someone who isn’t on the clan’s payroll.  It takes a little longer, not because his contact is less efficient, but because Hanzo doesn’t want the elders to know anything about Jesse.  He’s not their business, and Hanzo takes special care to ensure Jesse’s nowhere on their radar. 

  


He’d like to claim it’s a practical decision, something self-serving, but it feels territorial more than anything else.  Like Jesse is  _ his,  _ and Hanzo doesn’t want to look too closely at it, the way his instincts flare and seethe at the thought of his family putting Jesse in any kind of danger.  It’s ridiculous, because Jesse is nothing to him, shouldn’t be eliciting this kind of reaction. He’s a stranger, essentially, but Hanzo knows better than to argue with himself.

  


Knows better than to argue with his dragons.

  


A week or so later, and Hanzo has a flash drive full of intel to sort through, dozens of files pulled from places his contact categorically shouldn’t have been able to access.

  


Jesse James McCree’s life on paper is torrid, but not truly remarkable.  Born in Santa Fe, raised by a single mother, absorbed into the local gang without fanfare when she passed away around his twelfth birthday.  There are a handful of arrests, unsurprising in context. Theft, assault, possession of various controlled substances. A manslaughter charge that didn’t stick, a crime he’d obviously not committed but was willing to take the fall for rather than roll over on one of his own.  Jesse stares out of Hanzo’s screen in a smattering of mugshots, battered and snarling, painfully young.

  


He is all rough edges and wasted potential in black and white— dynamite without a fuse, a blade without a handle.

  


Sometime between then, and now, someone took Jesse, and molded him into something else entirely.  Something special, something unique.

  


Something powerful, and Hanzo is abruptly, irrationally envious.

  


Hanzo wants to find the boy in these pictures.  Show him how to hold a sword, how to string a bow.  

  


How to take that savagery that lives in him and own it, without letting it own him in turn.

  


Hanzo wants to see his eye light up again, wants to watch the world slow down— that breath of a moment between intent and destruction.

  


Mostly Hanzo just  _ wants,  _ and he’s long past denying himself.  Sojiro taught Hanzo many things, but his first lesson and his last were one and the same.

  


He’s a Shimada, and if he wants something, he takes it.

  


-

  


Breaking into the safehouse is anticlimactic.

  


It’s hidden away well enough, and the security is frustratingly difficult to bypass, but once he gets inside it’s oddly disappointing.  

  


It’s small, something for solitary agents as opposed to a team, and even so it’s woefully insufficient.  The bed is soft, and the bathroom is clean, but the first aid kit is less than impressive. Hanzo shoves down a flare of irritation as he picks through the rolls of gauze and antiseptic ointments.

  


Blackwatch must be hoping for bruises instead of bullets, if this is what they provided for their field operatives.

  


There’s a tiny kitchenette with a hot plate, a single cabinet full of canned vegetables and dry goods, and a mini-fridge that’s empty save a pair of ice packs and some expired biotics.  A case of bottled water sits on the counter, next to a six pack of some god-awful neon blue sports drink, dust gathering on the labels.

  


Overall it feels like a college student hurriedly stocked up a dorm room to weather a storm, until Hanzo finds the gear stashed in the floor.  Assorted small arms, ammo, a box of what looks like random tech. An outdated comm link, a shitty burner phone, a half dozen surveillance bugs.  It’s not overly comforting, the munitions and supplies there mismatched and of varying quality, but better than nothing. None of it is relevant. Hanzo didn’t come here to judge Blackwatch’s mission readiness, or the state of their safehouses.  

  


He planted a few sonic receivers on his way in, so no one is going to take him by surprise.  Hanzo can afford to relax, which is rare enough away from home that he’s not going to waste the opportunity.  He strips, crawling into the bed with a sigh and tugging down his hair. His body is still sore from traveling so far, so fast, jumping across too many time zones at once without giving himself time to adjust.

  


The comm he wears is turned down low, tuned into Blackwatch’s protected channel, the chatter of Jesse’s team muted in his ear.  Jesse himself isn’t speaking, likely because can’t risk the noise, but he communicates back and forth with his handlers via a system of taps and beeping.  There are only two voices on the channel, a tech and what sounds like a sniper with eyes on the building Jesse is creeping through.

  


Miles away, most likely, and not much help in the event of an emergency, but they’re probably only there as a contingency plan in case Jesse fails to do his job.

  


It’s boring, and Hanzo ignores it for the most part, uninterested in the finer details of Jesse’s work.  Hanzo doesn’t really care what he’s doing, or why.

  


Only where he’ll be afterwards, and Hanzo settles in to wait.

  


He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, isn’t sure how long he’s been out, but his dragons have him stirring just as Jesse’s silhouette lights up the safehouse door from the opposite side, glowing in the infrared tones of Hanzo’s receivers.  Hanzo tugs out his comm and drops it to the floor, listening to Jesse tap out numbers on the door’s keypad, to the hum and buzz of the fingerprint identification screen. Sitting up feels like too much effort, so Hanzo stays where he is, laid out on the bed like some kind of offering.

  


The door unlocks after a moment, and Jesse staggers through it, favoring his right leg heavily with one arm curved around his midsection.  Injured, then, even if Hanzo can’t tell precisely how. He’s bloodier than last time, and Hanzo can smell it, the sharp scent of copper soaked into his clothes.

  


“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo says, and Jesse has his gun up before Hanzo finishes speaking, pointed right at Hanzo’s face.

  


Hanzo doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react.  Just blinks sleepily at Jesse as he stretches, feline and lazy, and Jesse grins like he can’t help it.  He holsters his weapon, and closes the door with a distinct click, the faint sounds of the city outside going from faraway to nonexistent.  Jesse’s hat sits askew on his head, and he takes it off, and hangs it on a hook in the wall without looking.

  


That he’s worn it on a stealth mission is ridiculous, but Hanzo knows he would have been disappointed by anything else.

  


“Hanzo Shimada,” he replies, and Hanzo grins back, slow and pleased.

  


He isn’t all that shocked that Jesse figured out who he was, because it probably wasn’t difficult, but it’s vindicating somehow.  Makes him feel almost proud, and Hanzo ignores that, the satisfied preening of his dragons.

  


There’s a trilling sound, and Jesse lifts a hand to his ear, a sheepish expression crossing his face.

  


He’s forgotten his comm is still transmitting, and Hanzo can’t hold back his huff of laughter.

  


“Negative,” Jesse says, holding down a button on his earpiece and frowning.  “No. I said  _ negative,  _ I am squared away.”  

  


Hanzo can’t make out what Jesse’s handler is saying, can barely hear the tinny chirp of their voice through Jesse’s earpiece, but they don’t sound happy.  Jesse sighs, unstrapping his body armor as they bitch at him through the speaker, letting everything land in a heap at his feet.

  


“Goddamn it, V, I said  _ no. _  I am  _ squared away,  _ secure and sitting tight,” he insists, kicking his gear into the corner.  “Don’t make me pull rank on you, I ain’t got the patience for it. I’m holding at my current position for now, will signal for evac when things quiet down.  Check in at 0600. Signing off.”

  


Jesse pulls out the comm link and tosses it onto the nightstand with a growl before looking up at Hanzo again.  His entire expression shifts, and his smile is back, wide and conspiratorial.

  


Like he’s gotten away with more than just his mission, and Hanzo can feel Jesse’s gaze on him, tangible and heavy and welcome.

  


“You’re a sight for sore eyes, babydoll.  Didn’t think we’d be runnin’ into each other again,” Jesse says, down to his BDU pants and a black tank top, limping his way over to the bed.  He doesn’t sit, but reaches out with one hand to brush Hanzo’s hair away from his face with that misplaced gentleness that makes Hanzo want to squirm.  He’s leaning into the touch without meaning to, and it’s feels more familiar than it should, more natural.

  


Jesse is a one night stand from six months ago.  A quick fuck, someone Hanzo should have forgotten about by now.

  


Except Hanzo doesn’t want to forget.  Can’t, not with his dragons always restless in his blood, and in his bones, calling out like they expect Jesse to answer them.

  


“You weren’t all that hard to find,” Hanzo says, voice quiet and sleep-rough, “but getting you alone is another matter entirely.”

  


He doesn’t mean for it to come out like that, dripping with innuendo, but it’s still rewarding to watch Jesse’s reaction.  His cheeks flushing, his pupils blowing dark. Jesse shrugs out of his tank top with a grimace, a bruise blossoming over the right side of his ribs, over his stomach.  Most of the blood on Jesse appears to be coming from a gash on his forearm, though there’s also a scrape on his cheek, and a cut on his forehead. Nothing serious, but Hanzo doesn’t like it.

  


His distaste for Jesse’s injuries must show on his face, because Jesse’s frowning now, looking at Hanzo like he’s a mystery to be unraveled.

  


A puzzle with pieces missing, and Jesse doesn’t bother playing coy.  He pulls the rest of his clothes off and climbs into bed, just as big as Hanzo remembers.  Taking up more space than he should, like there is too much of him.

  


Jesse lays down next to Hanzo, chin propped up on his palm, and reaches out to scratch through Hanzo’s beard.

  


“I ain’t worth the trouble of gettin’ alone, specially not when you gotta traipse halfway across the damn world to do it, and break through a dozen black ops security protocols, besides.  Not sure why you bothered, darlin’.” 

  


Hanzo isn’t sure, either.  Doesn’t like asking himself why.  Doesn’t know why he keeps dwelling on it, the memory of Jesse’s voice in the low light of a borrowed room, fingers tracing meaningless patterns on Hanzo’s back.  

  


It feels like the answers are buried in his chest.  Like he’d have to pry himself apart to find them. 

  


Like it would hurt, and he isn’t sure he’d be able to put himself together afterwards, doesn’t think all the pieces would fit back the way they should.  

  


Hanzo shrugs one shoulder, turning towards Jesse until they’re pressed together, skin on skin.  

  


“Perhaps I just want my arrow returned,” he says, deflecting, and Jesse hitches Hanzo’s knee over his thigh, sliding his hand up to palm Hanzo’s ass.

  


“Awww, now, we traded fair and square,” Jesse answers.  Hanzo snorts, because a flashbang for a sonic arrow is far from an even trade, but he doesn’t feel like arguing the point.  

  


Hanzo rolls them until he’s straddling Jesse and presses a thumb into the bruise on his ribs, just hard enough to make him hiss.  Jesse grips Hanzo’s hips, and rocks up into him, like the sting of Hanzo’s touch is all it takes to have him wanting. Hanzo cocks up an eyebrow, and presses harder against the dark red of his injury, watching Jesse’s reactions with undisguised interest.  He’s fully hard beneath Hanzo, now, lip worried between his teeth, breath coming just a bit faster.

  


Enjoying it, Hanzo’s palm splayed on his ribs, the controlled pain Hanzo’s giving him.

  


There is more dragon than man within him right then, all claws and teeth and endless hunger, and it would be beyond enjoyable to explore this further.  To see how far he can push Jesse— to learn what he can take, watch him come alive under the ache that Hanzo wields.

  


But Jesse is legitimately hurt, bleeding and bruised with broken ribs, and Hanzo has no intention of being gentle.   _ Another time,  _ he thinks, and then tacitly ignores the implications of that, how easily he assumes that there will be another chance to test things between them.

  


As though these aren’t stolen moments, eked out with months of planning and careful schemes, far more dangerous for Hanzo than Jesse.

  


“Mmm, if you say so,” Hanzo replies eventually, leaning down to dig in his backpack where it sits on the floor next to the bed.  He comes back up with a canister in hand, the size and shape of a soda, kanji printed neatly on the side. Hanzo depresses a button on the top, and twists it like he’s opening a bottle.  The metal shifts under his hands, and there is a popping sound, and a flash of light.

  


The warm glow of a biotic field surrounds them both, the room bathed in soft gold as Hanzo sets the canister on the nightstand.  Jesse sighs in relief, eyes dropping closed, and he pulls Hanzo down until he’s lying on his chest.

  


“Oh, that’s nice, you didn’t hafta do that,” Jesse says, and Hanzo knows what he’s thinking.  Biotic fields aren’t cheap, and it isn’t something anyone would normally waste on a few busted ribs or a shallow knife wound.  

  


But Hanzo doesn’t want to pull his punches here just because Jesse went and got himself wounded on a mission.  Blowing a couple million yen on another biotic field is the least of his concerns. Jesse is underneath him, finally, and he intends to make the most of it.  

  


It never gets any less strange, seeing fields work their magic, even if nothing is visibly different right away.  Biotics heal internal injuries first, working from the inside out. Knitting Jesse’s ribs together is the priority, most likely, and Jesse tenses for a moment before going slack, exhaling slow.  Then the bruise on his side darkens briefly before disappearing, the cuts on his arm and face vanishing into nothing. Other than the blood on him, there are no outward signs that Jesse has been hurt at all, and Hanzo’s dragons rumble contentedly at the sight.  

  


He sits up, and Jesse blinks his eyes open slow, looking at Hanzo with something like wonder.  The mild drugging effects of the biotic field, coupled with Jesse’s unashamed glee at seeing Hanzo again, leaving him dazed and pliant.  He touches Hanzo everywhere; Hanzo’s thighs where they bracket his stomach, the cut muscles of Hanzo’s abdomen, the tattooed expanse of his pectoral and bicep.  Jesse’s hand trails down his arm, and he laces their fingers together, and lifts them to his mouth. Meets Hanzo’s eyes, and kisses his knuckles, lips careful and reverent.

  


“Missed you,” he says, like it’s easy to admit, like it doesn’t cost him anything.

  


As though it isn’t a weakness, and Hanzo doesn’t know how to answer without saying something he’ll regret.  He kisses Jesse instead, rougher than he wants to, because everything feels too tender right now. Delicate.

  


Breakable.

  


Hanzo uses his teeth, and takes Jesse’s mouth like he has something to prove, fingers sunk into his hair to hold him in place.  It’s gritty between his fingers, damp with sweat, blood caked into it in places. Jesse melts into the contact, wrapping his arms around Hanzo to urge him closer, until there isn’t any space left between them.  They fit together perfectly, and Jesse is everywhere, surrounding Hanzo on all sides.

  


There is nowhere to go, no place Hanzo would rather be right now.  Jesse inundates his senses, and Hanzo is drowning in him.

  


There is a treacherous kind of patience in the way Jesse kisses, in the way he touches Hanzo.  He licks into Hanzo’s mouth, languid and unhurried, without any urgency. His hands move slow, rubbing circles on Hanzo’s back, palms splaying over his spine.  Mapping out every inch, fingertips impossibly light as they pet through Hanzo’s hair, and ghost over his collar bones. 

  


Hanzo knows, suddenly, what it is to be adored, and it’s wondrous, and terrifying.

  


He can’t decide if he wants to run, or sink his claws into Jesse, let them grow like roots in his skin until neither one of them can escape.

  


They stay there a long time, tongues spilling together, mouths swollen and red and messy.  They move against one another, but it’s idle, both of them grinding without any real intent.  Hanzo feels dazed, the rest of the world miles away and irrelevant, and when Jesse pulls back Hanzo chases the kiss.

  


“Taste just as good as I remember,” Jesse murmurs into Hanzo’s mouth, and Hanzo smirks.

  


“You never even tasted the best part,” Hanzo says, grinding his cock suggestively into Jesse, whose eyes flit hungrily down towards it.  He hums low in the back of his throat, teeth worrying his bottom lip for a moment before letting go.

  


“Mmm.  Reckon we could fix that, darlin’?”  Jesse asks, earnest and pleading, and Hanzo doesn’t need to be asked twice.  

  


Not when he’s been dreaming about Jesse’s mouth for months on end.

  


He cups Jesse’s jaw with his right hand, and crawls up his body, kneeling on either side of Jesse’s chest.  He raises up, bracing his left forearm on the wall above Jesse’s head, the slick tip of his cock leaving a wet streak across Jesse’s cheek.  Hanzo slips his thumb between Jesse’s lips, pressing down on one of his canines and prying his jaw wide.

  


Then he feeds his cock into Jesse’s mouth, slowly but without stopping.  Deeper, and deeper, and Jesse’s muscles go slack as he closes his eyes.

  


Breathes through his nose, and moans, and takes every last inch.

  


When Hanzo is buried to the hilt he stops, fingertips stroking Jesse’s cheekbone, threading into his hair.  It feels better than Hanzo imagined it would, hotter, tighter. He runs a thumb across one of Jesse’s brows, coaxing his eyes open to ask a wordless question.  Jesse looks debauched already, lips stretched obscenely around the girth of Hanzo’s cock, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Hanzo eases off, shuddering as Jesse’s tongue works around his shaft, and then presses back in again.  Holding Jesse’s gaze, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement, for permission.

  


Jesse’s palms slide up Hanzo’s thighs, and he grabs Hanzo’s ass with both hands, fingertips digging in greedily.  Then he urges Hanzo forward in a brutal grind, forcing Hanzo to fuck his mouth, whining pitifully as his throat opens to take Hanzo’s cock.  He is blissed out, staring up at Hanzo, starry eyed and euphoric as Hanzo pushes into him. Prettier than he has any right to be, soft and vulnerable.  Hanzo’s calves are tucked into Jesse’s sides, and he can feel him rocking up into nothing, hips moving in helpless little jerks in time with Hanzo’s own.

  


It is a blatant invitation, how shamelessly Jesse wants Hanzo, one he cannot help but accept.

  


He tightens his fingers in Jesse’s hair, and holds on as he ruts into him, thumb stroking his jaw erratically with every desperate thrust.  His head hangs loose between his shoulders, hair falling like a curtain around his face, swaying as he ruthlessly takes Jesse’s mouth. Jesse is shivering, mewling into his cock, hands shaking as he coaxes Hanzo into a more punishing rhythm.

  


He’s falling apart under Hanzo, as though Jesse is the one getting what he needs, instead of the other way around.

  


As though he will take everything Hanzo has, and glory in it, no matter how it’s given.

  


It isn’t long before Hanzo loses his composure, pounding frantically into Jesse’s mouth, muttering curses under his breath.  Heat rises in him, swelling and shifting, the pleasure of it eviscerating. He’s going to finish, but can’t find words, can’t make any sounds other than the whimpering moans pouring from his throat.

  


Hanzo goes taut, every muscle tensing, ready to snap.

  


Then he comes down Jesse’s throat, and Jesse clutches Hanzo tight, and refuses to let him pull out.  Jesse’s shuddering as he swallows, and swallows, unwilling to release Hanzo’s cock even as it goes soft and oversensitive on his tongue.  Hanzo quakes, and tries to arch away, tugging ineffectually at Jesse’s hair in an attempt to free himself.

  


_ “Jesse,”  _ he says eventually, voice high and breathy, and it doesn’t sound like him.

  


Or it does, but it sounds like he’s begging.

  


Hanzo doesn’t think he’s ever begged for anything in his life, but it’s impossible to regret it with Jesse looking at him that way.  

  


Pink cheeked and sweating, eyes black, a bead of Hanzo’s come dripping down his chin when he finally lets Hanzo’s cock slip from his mouth.  His chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath, but there is something unmistakably satisfied in Jesse’s gaze, an absence of hunger. Hanzo looks over his shoulder to see stripes of white painting Jesse’s stomach.  Wet, and filthy.

  


He’s come untouched, just from sucking Hanzo off, and Hanzo runs his fingers through the mess with a possessive growl.

  


Brings them up to his mouth, and holds Jesse’s gaze as he licks them clean one by one.

  


Jesse watches, eyes hooded, and Hanzo is so far from done with him that it’s frightening.

  


From the look on Jesse’s face, it seems like he knows.

  



	3. Liable

“Transports are loaded and ready, everybody gear up to roll in thirty.  I want comms triple checked, make sure your feeds are transmitting, and Rodriguez if you so much as  _ look  _ at those goddamn plastics, I will shoot you myself.  Anything explodes tonight I’m taking it out of your ass, you got me?”

 

Josiah smirks, raising one eyebrow and lowering his voice.

 

“That a promise, sir?”

 

Gabriel picks up a nearby vest, and flings it at him.  Josiah rolls out of the way, and wisely flees the room with the rest of the team, Jesse following after with a grin.

 

“Oh, and McCree?” Gabriel calls, and Jesse turns back, waiting.

 

“Yeah boss?”  

 

Gabriel steps in close, brows coming together in a glare, and when he speaks it’s whisper quiet but deadly serious.

 

“If you come across Shimada fucking Hanzo, you disengage and regroup, are we clear?” Gabriel hisses, and Jesse’s grin goes wider.

 

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?  Disengaging?” Jesse asks, and Gabriel smacks him lightly in the side of the head.

 

“I’m not fucking around, Jesse.  I don’t want to have to explain to Strike Commander Morrison that one of my men managed to get himself kidnapped by a crime lord because he was too busy trying to get his dick wet to follow protocol.”

 

Jesse shrugs one shoulder, a corner of his mouth still quirked up.

 

“Thought we agreed what Morrison don’t know won’t hurt ‘im.”

 

Maybe not in so many words, but Reyes had gone back and edited Jesse’s audio feed from the  Amsterdam mission, erased any evidence that Hanzo had been in his safehouse. He’d made it very clear that he was pissed, but he had Jesse’s back in the end.  

 

Gabriel’s glare goes vicious, and he points an accusing finger in Jesse’s face.

 

“No,  _ no.   _ We agreed I wasn’t about to lose one of my best field agents to desk duty just because he made a couple of  _ stupid fucking decisions  _ and got himself compromised, but if your little yakuza admirer becomes a liability, you will ride a goddamn desk all the way to retirement, so I’m asking you again.  Are. We. Clear.”

 

“Yes, sir.  Crystal, sir,” Jesse answers, wishing once again that he hadn’t let Hanzo’s name slip on his comms all those months ago.

 

A lot of things in Jesse’s life would be easier if he’d learn to shut the fuck up on occasion. 

 

Reprimand or no, though, Jesse’s always preferred seeking forgiveness to asking permission. 

 

When the transport takes off, he’s got lube tucked into the pocket of his suit, tie snug at his throat, cufflinks shining on his wrists.  He’s used to dressing up for missions at this point, but he’d still rather be working behind the scenes in a gun belt and his cowboy hat. Josie isn’t headed undercover, so he’s wearing his tac armor, and Jesse spots the telltale bulge in his vest that means he’s packing his demo kit.

 

Josiah catches him looking, and winks, unrepentant.  Jesse just smiles, and stays quiet.

 

He does love fireworks, after all.

 

-

 

“We have eyes on the target.  She’s leaving her estate, presumed inbound to location A for the drop-off; Haystack is tailing, ETA 45 minutes.  Everyone hold your positions.”

 

It’s Gabriel’s voice in his ear, overseeing the operation from the nearby base, seated in front of an impressive array of screens with a handful of techs tapping away at their keyboards next to him.  Jesse’s spent enough time in control to know he hates it there, and he doesn’t envy Gabe that part of the job, the stifling, detached observation when he’d rather be in the field. 

 

Jesse waits for the right moment to tap out a confirmation on his earpiece, and sips at his champagne, watching V make her way seamlessly through the crowd.  

 

The wig she’s wearing is excellent, hair coiled up in a complicated twist atop her head, jeweled hair sticks shoved into it in places with silver chains dangling from the ends.  Her dress is fitted on top, with layers of upon layers of fabric below, billowing out behind her as she walks. She has to hitch up the sides sometimes, to get the skirt out of the way as she flits effortlessly from one conversation to the next.  V laughs at bad jokes, and dances with a few unsuspecting partygoers, all bright smiles and sophisticated charm. 

 

Jesse knows she’s got knives strapped to her thighs.  A pistol, a garotte. Knows those hair sticks are sharpened and weighted for throwing, that she has all the pieces of a Remington broken down and stowed in that ridiculous dress.

 

It’s like watching a bunch of infants play with a tiger, and Jesse drinks more champagne, and lingers on the edges of the crowd.

 

He doesn’t  _ hate  _ going undercover, exactly, but he definitely prefers a more casual role.  Patron of a coffee shop, drunk at a nightclub, homeless guy begging for change.  Charity banquets are categorically not his thing, and he’ll be glad to pack this mission in at the end of the night.  All he has to do is play bored philanthropist for another half hour or so until their target arrives, but Jesse is already restless.  

 

His suit is uncomfortable, the thin body armor underneath it ill-fitting, shoes definitely not designed with running in mind.  Ideally Jesse won’t be the one chasing down their girl, but things haven’t been working out  _ ideally  _ for Blackwatch lately, so he’s prepared for anything.  Jesse sighs, checking in on V on autopilot, listening to Josiah and Serafin chatter back and forth on the comms as they slink through the basement levels of the building.

 

Someone sidles up to him from behind, and Jesse would think it was another disinterested wallflower if not for the fact that they managed to sneak up on him.

 

No one sneaks up on Jesse, not anymore.  He turns, already reaching up to his comm to ping V for backup, only to freeze halfway through the motion. 

 

Then he smiles, and he’s fairly sure his face is doing something stupid, but he can’t manage to stop.

 

Hanzo Shimada makes a fool out of Jesse without even trying.  

 

He’s dressed to the nines like everyone else, but his suit makes Jesse’s look like he fished it out of a garbage can.  Dark blue pinstripes and soft silk and sinful black gloves, hair tied back with a navy ribbon, and Hanzo makes it look effortless.  Makes it look  _ good,  _ and Jesse lets himself stare, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and then releasing it.

 

“Fancy meetin’ you here, sweetheart,” he says, soft and fond.  He’s grateful he’s not on a solo mission right now, glad his comm isn’t transmitting every word straight to Gabe and his techs in control.  They could listen, if they wanted to, but it’s not very likely this early in the evening with everything running smoothly. Small favors, Jesse thinks, and smiles again.  “Didn’t take you for the charitable type.”

 

Hanzo smirks, gesturing to the room at large with his glass of champagne.

 

“Very few people here are actually the charitable type.  They want attention, or tax breaks, or an excuse to feel good about themselves.  Any good they do is mostly incidental,” Hanzo says, matter-of-fact, and then takes a generous swallow of champagne.

 

He pulls a face afterwards, lip curling in disgust as he glares at his drink, and he hands the half-empty flute to a man who happens to be walking past.  From the man’s expression it’s clear he’s not actually a member of the waitstaff, but he takes the glass anyway, frowning at Hanzo in confusion as he continues towards the bar.  When Hanzo turns back he nods at Jesse’s drink, raising an eyebrow in question.

 

“I would have pegged you as more of a whiskey man,” Hanzo says, and Jesse laughs.

 

“Mmm, you got me there,” Jesse replies, tugging at his tie to loosen it, “this ain’t really my scene.”

 

Hanzo reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a flask, silver with a stylized dragon etched into the surface.  He holds it out in offering, the liquid sloshing, and Jesse’s positive whatever’s inside is better than anything he’s ever drunk.  He sighs regretfully after a moment and shakes his head, forcing his eyes back up to meet Hanzo’s.

 

“I’m guessin’ you know I’m working right now.  They got me on inhibitors, couldn’t get drunk if I tried.  Wish I could,” Jesse says, looking Hanzo up and down, “I would love a taste of what you’re offering.”

 

“I’m sure you would,” Hanzo says, stepping in close.  He eases his hand in Jesse’s jacket, slipping the flask into his inner pocket.  Smooths his palms over Jesse’s lapels, holding his gaze, eyes glittering. “I can cure what ails you, cowboy.”  

 

Want hits Jesse like a blow to the stomach, and he’s pressing into Hanzo thoughtlessly, like they’re all alone in the room and not surrounded by prying eyes.  He’s spent far too much time over the past few months thinking about this, if he might see Hanzo again, might get to touch him, or taste him.

 

To breathe him in, clean skin and subtle cologne, hair soft on Jesse’s face.

 

Fingers rough on Jesse’s skin.

 

Even now, with Hanzo looking up at Jesse from under his lashes, it’s hard to reconcile who Hanzo is with the things he does.  Jesse has spent more time than he’d like to admit reading articles about Hanzo on the internet, or digging through Overwatch intelligence files.  Dossiers, psych profiles. Hanzo Shimada, who is powerful, and deadly, and complicated. The leader of a criminal empire, head of the most prominent clan of yakuza in all of Japan.

 

Hanzo Shimada, who spends his free time hacking into encrypted military networks to track Jesse across the world, only to crawl into his bed.  Who knows Jesse is a Blackwatch operative, and doesn’t seem to give a shit. He doesn’t want information, or alliances, or favors.

 

He just wants Jesse.  It’s drugging, to be desired by someone like Hanzo, to be pursued so relentlessly.  It’s predatory, and thrilling, and Jesse fucking loves it.

 

If Hanzo Shimada wants to chase him down, then Jesse’s going to let himself be  _ chased.   _

 

Going to let himself be caught, because Jesse’s never felt as much like prey as he does underneath Hanzo, and he’s helpless to resist.

 

Just when Jesse is reaching up to touch his jaw Hanzo lays a hand on Jesse’s chest and pushes, putting space between them, grinning indulgently.  He steps back, and walks away, throwing a long look over his shoulder as he heads under an archway and vanishes down the hall. Jesse stares after him, breathless and overwhelmed, before remembering himself.

 

V is already looking at him from across the room when he locates her, smiling with one eyebrow cocked up.  Jesse feels his face heat, and V laughs, hands moving deliberately in front of her. She signs fluidly,  _ go get him, cowboy, I have you.   _ Signs  _ hurry,  _ twice in quick succession, and even from so far away Jesse can tell she’ll be making fun of him later, but he doesn’t mind.

 

Getting teased by his team is par for the course, anyway.  At least this time he’s getting something out of it.

 

He signs back  _ thank you  _ and tips an imaginary hat at her before spinning on his heel and trailing after Hanzo.  

 

The hallway Hanzo disappeared into is wide, and dimly lit, broken up by alcoves filled with statues and oversized vases of flowers.  Jesse creeps further down it, moving slow, eyes flitting from shadow to shadow and finding them all empty. Hanzo wouldn’t have broken into a room, wouldn’t have risked triggering an alarm, and Jesse knows from his mission briefing that all these doors are locked.

 

He’s weighing the pros and cons of just calling out for Hanzo when arms close around him from behind.  Jesse’s instincts don’t rile as they usually would, and he doesn’t tense, doesn’t resist.

 

He knows it’s Hanzo, and lets himself be manhandled against the back wall of the nearest alcove without a fight.  The two of them are wedged behind an ornate statue of an angel, not quite out of sight, but hidden enough that Jesse doesn’t feel overly exposed.  Hanzo is in his space immediately, dragging his nose up Jesse’s chest, inhaling slow. His gloved hands frame Jesse’s face, and he lifts up on his toes, and brings their mouths together.

 

Hanzo kisses Jesse with a frantic desperation that’s never been there before, or at least never been so unmistakable.  It’s raw, and needy, and Jesse moans against Hanzo’s lips and goes boneless. He slips his hands under Hanzo’s jacket, fisting them in the fabric of his shirt, rubbing his palm up Hanzo’s spine to urge him closer.  Their mouths are already wet and messy when Hanzo breaks away, kissing down Jesse’s jaw. 

 

His fingers go tight in Jesse’s hair, and he tilts his head to side, tugging Jesse’s mouth against his throat.  It’s obvious what Hanzo wants, and Jesse is happy to give it to him, biting down on the smooth expanse of Hanzo’s neck.  He sucks a dark, wide hickey into Hanzo’s skin, and then another, and another, Hanzo making punched out little sounds as he grinds into Jesse, shameless as always.

 

“Tell me again,” Hanzo demands, “like last time,” and Jesse peppers kisses over Hanzo’s bruised throat, humming in question.

 

“Tell you what, baby?” Jesse asks, unsure what he means.  Hanzo huffs in annoyance, like Jesse should know already, and gives his hair a punishing yank.

 

“Tell me you missed me,” he answers, and Jesse’s heart twists in his chest, affection welling up and threatening to spill over.  He eases back, nudging his nose into Hanzo’s with a grin.

 

“Missed you,” he says truthfully, kissing him again, this time on the mouth.  “What about you? Didja miss me?”

 

Hanzo runs his thumb over Jesse’s bottom lip, tugging it to the side, brows drawn together.

 

_ “Yes,”  _ he hisses.  Like it’s a bad thing, like Jesse’s done something wrong.

 

Then he shoves two gloved fingers into Jesse’s mouth, and Jesse groans.

 

“Suck,” Hanzo orders, and Jesse obeys, working his tongue against the leather with unchecked enthusiasm.

 

He licks at them, sucking them deep into his mouth, whining when Hanzo starts unbuckling his belt.  Hanzo watches as Jesse pulls off, clutching at his wrist. He sticks his tongue out, and drags it across Hanzo’s palm, Jesse’s drool dripping down Hanzo’s knuckles.  The gloves are soft and smooth, and Jesse wants them in his mouth when he comes, wants to bite down into them, feel them give under his teeth.

 

Hanzo tugs Jesse’s cock out, and reaches down to close his spit slick fingers around it, giving him a slow stroke.  Jesse jerks up into his fist, and moans, the sound obscenely loud in the dim hush of the alcove. He can’t help it, Hanzo is close and hot and giving him exactly what he needs, exactly what he’s wanted for what feels like an eternity.  Hanzo covers Jesse’s mouth with his other hand, and nuzzles under his ear.

 

“Quiet yourself,” he murmurs, and Jesse whines low in his throat and fucks into Hanzo’s hand.  

 

He’ll do anything Hanzo asks him, be anything, say anything.  It should make him feel weak, this unabashed desire to please, except Hanzo never makes him feel weak.

 

Hanzo makes him feel  _ worthy. _

 

He works Jesse lazily, reaching into his pants to cup his balls, kneading at them.  It’s good, it’s so good Jesse can’t think straight, the chatter of his teammates in his ear calm and controlled but faraway, the sounds of the party down the hall muted and unimportant.  

 

There is only Hanzo, and the tight clench of his fingers on Jesse’s cock, teeth nipping sharply at Jesse’s neck.  It’s perfect,  _ Hanzo  _ is perfect, and Jesse is already perilously close to coming.

 

Then Hanzo falls to his knees, one hand fisted around the base of Jesse’s cock, and holds his gaze as he swallows it down.  Jesse shudders, caught up in all the wrong details as Hanzo takes him to hilt, nose buried in the dark curls on his abdomen.  Hanzo’s eyes look heavy, like he can’t quite keep them open. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he’s breathing hard, moaning softly as he takes Jesse in again and again.  

 

Jesse is struck with the realization that Hanzo  _ loves  _ it, being on his knees for Jesse, giving him this.  

 

One of the most dangerous men Jesse has ever met is kneeling at his feet, whimpering against his cock, black-eyed and blissful.  Drunk on Jesse, and he has to stop and remind himself to breathe.

 

Hanzo’s eyelashes are so long, fanned out and delicate, and that’s— he’s wearing  _ eyeliner,  _ which isn’t fair, he’s already ridiculously sexy.  The ribbon in his hair has some intricate pattern woven into it, and Jesse wants to pull it down, sink his fingers in the strands.  Wants to keep it, tuck the soft silk into his pocket and take it home.

 

Wants to keep  _ Hanzo.  _

 

He can’t, he knows he can’t, but it still makes something inside him ache, a fire burning too deep to be extinguished.  

 

Jesse runs his thumb over Hanzo’s bottom lip where it’s stretched around his cock, taking the length of Hanzo’s ribbon between the fingers of his other hand and pulling gently.

 

“Take your hair down for me, beautiful,” he says, and Hanzo blinks up at him, and tilts his head into Jesse’s hand in answer.

 

Jesse’s careful.  It’s slow going, mostly because it’s hard to focus on anything other than the warm, wet slide of Hanzo’s mouth, but eventually he tugs the ribbon free.  The spill of Hanzo’s hair around his face is exquisite, and Jesse lets the ribbon flutter to the ground in favor of running his fingers through it. Hanzo meets his eyes again, and Jesse notices he’s got his hand in his clothes, wrist moving back and forth as he jerks himself off.

 

It’s the hottest thing Jesse has ever seen, Hanzo on his knees, jacking off frantically with a mouthful of Jesse’s cock.

 

He fucks into Hanzo’s lips, hips rutting forward of their own volition, gritting his teeth to stave off his climax.

 

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, darlin’, look so good like this.  Your mouth’s so goddamn pretty, Hanzo,” Jesse says, and Hanzo closes his eyes at the words, body jolting erratically.  He’s whining, and twitching.

 

Coming over his fingers in bursts, and Jesse has to crane his neck to see, but it’s a beautiful thing to behold.  Hanzo, fucked out beneath him, glove splashed with stripes of white.

 

All because Jesse told him he had a pretty mouth, and he comes down Hanzo’s throat, clinging to his hair like a lifeline.

 

_ “Hanzo,  _ fuck,” he says, grinding forward in short little bursts.  Hanzo takes it eagerly, sucks him through the shivery aftershocks of his orgasm before pulling off.

 

When he climbs to his feet Hanzo lifts a hand to Jesse’s mouth, backs of his knuckles nudging Jesse’s lips.  It’s covered in Hanzo’s come, and Jesse laps it up without prompting, Hanzo’s eyes riveted on Jesse’s tongue as he licks over the soft leather.  He’s meticulous, cleaning in between Hanzo’s fingers, watching Hanzo stare hungrily at his mouth.

 

Hanzo draws his hand away eventually and kisses Jesse, deeply, like he’s chasing the taste of himself.  There’s no desperation to it, no sharp edge of need. Just the two of them moving together, the wet sound of their lips, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly it makes Jesse’s chest hurt.  Hanzo tucks them both back into their pants without breaking the kiss, reaching up to cup Jesse’s face again afterwards, thumbs scratching through his beard.

 

It is easy to forget where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing with Hanzo in his arms, kissing him slow, holding him close.  Hanzo makes everything fade into the background, Jesse’s world shrinking down until there’s no room for anything else.

 

There is a sudden sequence of beeps in Jesse’s ear, wrenching him viscerally back to the present.  Jesse pulls away, one hand curled around the back of Hanzo’s neck, the other coming up to his comm.

 

“Target approaching location A, ETA five minutes.  Haystack falling back to secondary positions, Fallout inbound.  V, Doc, on your toes, eyes up and alert. Boom, Doom, you sit tight, hold your horses and wait for my command.  Holliday squad, sound off.” 

 

He hears the telltale beeping of V’s response, and echoes it himself shortly after, trilling an all clear to Gabe and his crew.

 

“Boom’s sitting pretty,” Josiah says, sounding far too pleased, and Jesse can only wonder what he’s gotten up to with those plastic explosives that has him so content.

 

“Doom’s green, sir,” Serafin adds, voice giving nothing away.

 

“All right, let’s get this show on the fucking road,”  Gabriel says, and then the comm goes quiet, and Jesse sighs.

 

“Duty calls?” Hanzo asks, and he’s smirking, but it’s not quite genuine.  Jesse doesn’t have time to unpack that, though, can’t parse out the complexities of Hanzo’s feelings with V out there on her own.  He nods, and Hanzo raises up on his toes, and kisses Jesse on the mouth. “Until next time, cowboy,” he says, and vanishes down the hall, faster than should be possible.  Jesse stares after him for a while, regret simmering low in his guts, V’s ping ringing in his ear again.

 

A flash of navy catches Jesse’s eye as he steps forward.  Hanzo’s ribbon, forgotten at their feet, and Jesse picks it up.  Tucks it in his pocket, toying with the silk for a moment before heading down the hallway.

 

_ Until next time,  _ he doesn’t think, because he can’t dwell on Hanzo right now.  Jesse checks his weapons, and straightens his tie.

 

He’s got work to do.

 

-

 

Everything goes smoothly, until it doesn’t anymore.

 

Their target turns out to be a decoy, the hand-off an empty briefcase, the intel so wrong that everyone is left scrambling.  Jesse stumbling across the actual hand-off in the chaos is more dumb luck than anything else, and really, he wishes he hadn’t.

 

He has a briefcase full of experimental weaponry and a handful of flash drives, sure, but now he’s alone underground.  His comm is blown from an emp blast, and he caught both a knife and a bullet for his trouble, an armor piercing round hitting him just right.  

 

Just wrong, technically.  Jesse’s biotic syringe is not working nearly fast enough for his liking, and there’s a troubling amount of blood pooling under his thigh.  He’s already dizzy with the loss of it, skin cold and clammy, head spinning. Hiding in an abandoned storage room isn’t the best option, but it’s the only one he’s got.  Jesse is already well past being able to stand, so he sits against the wall with his gun out, and listens. Footsteps move closer outside the door, his pursuers clearing the rooms one by one, and it’s only a matter of time before they reach him.

 

Jesse has always expected to die on a mission, but not like this, bleeding out in a dusty basement room, Hanzo’s ribbon tied like a tourniquet around his thigh.  It’s stained now, red seeping into the fabric, but Jesse has a feeling Hanzo wouldn’t mind.

 

Has a feeling Hanzo has ruined his fair share of clothes with blood.

 

There’s a shout from down the hall, the sounds of a struggle— a few muffled gunshots, the thump of bodies on the ground.  Silence for a moment, followed by a single set of footsteps, light but deliberate. They pause on the other side of the door, and Jesse lifts his gun, and squints his left eye, and waits.

 

When it swings open Hanzo is there, backlit by the harsh fluorescent bulbs in the hallway.  He’s poised for a fight, but it goes out of him in a rush when he catches sight of Jesse on the floor.

 

He might be dying, but he gets to see Hanzo again, at least.  It’s more comforting than it should be, the thought of getting one last kiss.

 

Of not being all alone when everything goes black.

 

Jesse releases the breath he’s holding, and lets his weapon clatter down beside his thigh.  It lands in the pool of his blood, and he lifts it back up with a cringe. It’s going to a pain in the ass to break down later, to clean his own gore out of the metal.  If he lives, anyway. Hanzo plucks it from his fingers and set it aside, crouching down next to him, prodding gingerly at his thigh.

 

“Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I,” he says, and Jesse winces at the pressure on his wound, and slaps Hanzo’s hand away.

 

“Easy there, darlin’,” he says, pushing himself up out of his slouch as best he can, “‘m a little worse for wear, here.”

 

“Is that your only injury?” Hanzo asks, patting at Jesse’s jacket pockets.  The flask is still where Hanzo left it, and he pulls it out, twisting off the cap.

 

“Just the gunshot, ‘n prolly a few more broken ribs.  Knife went through my body armor, but not deep enough to fret over.  S’it really the time for a drink, doll face?” Jesse asks, trying for levity and failing when his words come out strained and full of gravel.  Hanzo sighs, and lifts the flask to his lips.

 

“Quiet,” he says, tilting the flask up and forcing Jesse to either drink the liquid or wear it.

 

He closes his lips around the cool metal, and drinks, eyes going wide at the flavor.  It’s definitely whiskey, better than anything he’s ever had before, rich and smooth but with a strange, honey-thick undertone.

 

Hanzo gave him a flask full of whiskey laced with biotics.

 

_ ‘I can cure what ails you, cowboy,’  _ and Jesse already feels the wound on his leg closing up.  His ribs don’t hurt when he breathes, and the puncture in his side isn’t stinging anymore, biotics working like magic to repair what’s been broken.  Jesse drinks in loud, messy swallows, some of the whiskey dripping down his chin, Hanzo watching him like a hawk. When the flask is drained Hanzo pulls it away, and Jesse takes a breath, licking a stray drop from his bottom lip.

 

“Some mighty fine whiskey you got there.  Seems like a waste I gotta be dyin’ to taste it,” he says, and Hanzo tosses the flask at him with a huff.

 

“That’s entirely your fault for getting yourself shot,” he retorts, and Jesse bends his knee cautiously.  It’s sore, but more like he spent too much time at the gym than recently took a bullet, and he sighs in abject relief.

 

“That’s fair,” Jesse says, not in any shape to argue the point.  

 

He looks up at Hanzo, vision swimming with spots.  His injuries may be healed, but it will take some time for his blood to regenerate, even with the biotics.  Hanzo is closer than Jesse remembers him being, inches away from his face. He lays a palm on Jesse’s cheek, brows furrowed, eyes serious.

 

“I need to be gone when your team gets here,” he says, and Jesse nods.  Understands, even if he can’t find the words to express that through the lingering confusion in his head.  

 

Hanzo leans down, and kisses him, chaste and sweet and heartbreaking.  He tastes like blood, and wine, and Jesse is recklessly, foolishly in love.

 

“Take better care of yourself, Jesse.”

 

It’s murmured against Jesse’s lips, and he nods again, pressing their foreheads together for a long, long time.

 

When he opens his eyes again Hanzo is gone, and he staggers to his feet, and goes looking for V.

 

-

 

There is a bottle of whiskey on his bed when he gets back to the Watchpoint.  There’s no label, and the liquid glows faintly, biotics swirling ethereal within it.  No one has any idea how it got there, and the security feed shows nothing out of the ordinary.  There is a note tied to it, written in swirling cursive on thick, expensive paper rimmed in silver.

 

_ For foolish cowboys with regrettable taste, _

 

_ -H _

  
  
  
  



	4. Usurper

Hanzo has done this before.

 

He’s crawled into a bed in an unfamiliar place to await Jesse’s arrival, and the principle is the same,  but it’s different now. He’s on edge, heart beating fast in his chest, every instinct in him running high.  His dragons don’t want to settle entirely, and Hanzo isn’t sure if it’s because of the risk involved, or because Jesse will be there soon.  He’s in uncharted territory just like last time, except this is more perilous than showing up unannounced in some anonymous safehouse.

 

This time he’s in  _ Jesse’s  _ bed, Overwatch agents wandering up and down the halls just outside the door, Blackwatch personnel mixed in among them.  It’s dangerous, and thrilling. 

 

It’s foolish, and Hanzo presses his face into Jesse’s pillow, and breathes in the scent of him.  It soothes the animal in him a little, dragons lulled further into contentment, because Jesse is everywhere in this room.  It’s military barracks, so things are spartan at best, but the space is undeniably Jesse’s own. The empty bottle of biotic whiskey sitting in the bottom of the closet would be a dead giveaway even without the cowboy hat on the nightstand, the boots in the floor, the ugly belt buckle on top of the dresser.

 

The cannibalized shaft of Hanzo’s sonic arrow is tucked into a drawer under Jesse’s boxers like some kind of secret, Hanzo’s forgotten ribbon tied around it, stained with Jesse’s blood.  His flask is there, too, not as pristine as it used to be, dented and scratched like it’s seen better days. 

 

That all of the whiskey is gone is troubling for a myriad of reasons.  Either Overwatch got their hands on it and refused to give it back, or Jesse has needed it more often than Hanzo would like to think about.  Both options are unpleasant, and Hanzo shakes them away, and tries not to dwell. 

 

Maybe Jesse got lonely, and drank himself stupid on outrageously expensive whiskey while thinking of Hanzo.  It would make Hanzo feel better about losing himself in a bottle more than he cares to admit, flicking through stolen pictures of Jesse on his phone.

 

Jesse’s Blackwatch hoodie is too big on him, but Hanzo wears it anyway, unzipped over a black tank top and paired with matching sweats.  The Blackwatch logo is emblazoned not only on the back of the sweater, but near the hip on his pants, as well as on the hem of his shirt.  Hanzo looks for all the world like a Blackwatch agent coming back from the gym, or headed outside for a cigarette.

 

He waltzed in through the front gate dressed in pilfered gear, carrying falsified credentials to get him past the guards; a standard issue uniform, security pass hanging from a lanyard around his neck.  An unusually high number of Blackwatch agents are off base at the moment on a large scale mission in Mumbai, Commander Reyes among them, and nobody looks twice at Hanzo as he makes his way through the facility.  A group of new recruits arrived a few days ago, both Blackwatch and Overwatch proper, and he is just one more unfamiliar face among many. 

 

It’s been well over six months since Jesse almost bled out in Marseille, and Hanzo is restless with the need to see him again.  He watches footage from Jesse’s missions when it’s available, and it’s nerve wracking, how careless he can be in the face of danger.

 

How he puts himself in harm’s way to protect others, time and time again.  

 

Hanzo doesn’t understand it, that selfless instinct to save someone else, until he finds himself taking a knife for Genji in a scuffle.  Nothing significant, a rival clan with more bark than bite testing their boundaries, but there is an uncomfortable sense of clarity. 

 

Jesse’s team is his family; his brothers, his sisters.  The thought sits heavy in Hanzo’s gut, not because he cares about these people, but because Jesse does.  If something were to happen to them it would hurt Jesse, and Hanzo will do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

 

A difficult task when Jesse so readily throws himself into the fray with total disregard for his personal safety, but it is too late for regrets.  Hanzo is too deep in this, too tangled up in feelings he can’t ignore.

 

There is no fighting them anymore.  No pretending, no denial— at least not in the quiet of his room late at night with nothing but his thoughts for company.

 

Hanzo is in love with a reckless, beautiful disaster of a human being, and all he can do is follow where Jesse leads and hope for the best.

 

The past few months have been a miserable, frantic mix of leading the clan and keeping track of Jesse through his contacts, trying to find somewhere to slot himself into Jesse’s life without outing them both.  After Marseille all his missions are with his team, at least for a while, as if they’re worried Hanzo will show up the first he chance he gets to corrupt Jesse further. They aren’t wrong, but it’s frustrating nonetheless.

 

Hanzo understands why they’re concerned, but it’s keeping him away from Jesse, and he has a hard time being forgiving about the whole thing.

 

When Blackwatch starts sending him out solo again the timing is never right.  Jesse is in and out of locations too quickly, or Hanzo is quelling coups, crushing dissent among his own ranks.  Once or twice Hanzo hesitates to crash Jesse’s missions because they seem delicate, and he doesn’t want his presence to be a distraction, to put Jesse in more danger.

 

Heading the clan has taught Hanzo a measure of patience but there is only so much he can take before he grows tired of waiting, and the desire to have Jesse under his hands is a vicious, overwhelming thing that doesn’t want to let him breathe. 

 

Which is how Hanzo has ended up here, dressed in Jesse’s clothes, lounging in his bed.  His own ill-gotten uniform is piled on floor, traded for Jesse’s casuals without hesitation.  They’d been shoved into Jesse’s drawer, wrinkled with use, something he obviously slept in and intended on wearing again before washing.  Now Hanzo is swathed in the heady, rich scent of him, and it’s decadent somehow. Indulgent.

 

Something Hanzo should not be allowed, but is taking all the same, and there’s a rightness to it that he cannot deny.

 

He doesn’t have Stormbow, doesn’t have his katana or shurikens.  It’s an exposed kind of feeling being unarmed in hostile territory, but Hanzo can’t exactly cut his way out if he’s discovered.  There are smoke grenades in a pouch on Jesse’s nightstand, several of which have sedative properties, but putting Overwatch agents to sleep is a better option than burying a blade in them so Hanzo doesn’t feel too guilty about it.

 

The sonic receiver he’s planted over the door lights up when Jesse draws near, except that Hanzo doesn’t need it.  He feels Jesse before he sees him glowing in infrared tones, senses him, dragons thrumming pleased in his skin. Just like in Marseille, that magnetic sensation that had Hanzo creeping through hallways underground, desperate to get to Jesse.  To stand between him and anyone who wanted to do him harm, bow drawn, ready to bring down the heavens down.

 

_He’s here,_ his dragons rumble in his ear, and Hanzo isn’t surprised they know.

 

Jesse is his.  Hanzo could find him anywhere.

 

The door slides open, and Hanzo sits up, head cocked to the side with a smug smile on his face.  Jesse doesn’t see him right away, but when he notices Hanzo in his bed he stumbles, and goes wide eyed.  There is a long, heavy moment of silence, and then Jesse scrambles the rest of the way inside his room, looking at Hanzo like he has two heads.

 

“Han- A… fuck, Athena, lock the door,” he stutters, and Hanzo hears a hydraulic hiss as it slides closed.  

 

There’s a keypad next to the door, and the light on it flashes from strobing green to steady, unblinking red a second later.  Jesse is slack-jawed, mouth hanging open, brows furrowed in confusion.

 

“Athena… could you tell me who’s in my room?”  Jesse asks tentatively, and Hanzo just smirks wider and raises his chin.

 

“Agent Ryu Suzuki, ID 54470, Squad Arthur,” the AI replies coolly from a speaker overhead, and Jesse’s expression goes even more incredulous.  “Do you require further assistance, Agent McCree?”

 

“Uh… no, that’ll be all, thanks,” Jesse says, and the room is abruptly quieter, like the speaker above them has switched off.  

 

Jesse is still staring silently, disbelieving, and Hanzo is beginning to wonder if he’s made a mistake in coming here.  Maybe Jesse doesn’t want to see him. Maybe he’s decided it’s too risky after all, not worth the trouble.

 

Maybe he’s realized that Hanzo has too much blood on his hands to ever be worthy of Jesse.  

 

That Hanzo can’t touch him without leaving a stain.

 

“Hanzo, what the FUCK,” he hisses, crossing the room in three quick steps and tackling Hanzo gracelessly onto the bed.

 

Then Jesse’s mouth is on his, hungry and demanding, and Hanzo feels something go loose and relieved inside himself.  Jesse’s hands are on his face, knees bracketing Hanzo’s own, Jesse pinning Hanzo down with his weight. Hanzo has eschewed his usual ribbon for a simple elastic band, and Jesse finds it in his hair and pulls it out, fingers immediately sinking in the strands.  Hanzo does the same to Jesse, tangling his fingers in the russet strands and tugging, scratching at his scalp.

 

He’s been waiting months for this, and it’s everything he needs, and more.  

 

Jesse mumbles into Hanzo’s lips between kisses, voice low and chiding, but it’s difficult to take him seriously when he won’t give Hanzo any space, won’t stop touching him, won’t stop tasting him.

 

“Hanzo… you’re so _ridiculous,_ why-  why would you come _here,_ I kept waiting for you to show up on a mission, not pop up in my room at the fucking _Watchpoint_ like a goddamn magician, christ alive.”  He finally pulls back a scant few inches, petting Hanzo’s hair out of his face and looking at him so sweetly it hurts Hanzo’s chest.  “This is so dangerous, baby, what if somebody finds you here?”

 

_ They won’t,  _ he thinks with absolute certainty.  He pays his tech enough that they’re fiercely protective of him, or at least of the checks he writes them, and they wouldn’t allow Hanzo to trespass into a paramilitary facility if they weren’t totally sure his credentials would stand up to scrutiny.

 

“I missed you,” Hanzo says instead, and it’s taken him a long time to get there, to a place where he can say it out loud without flinching.  Sleepless nights, and gut-wrenching worry. A longing that no amount of sake could slake.

 

_ ‘Who’s Jesse?’  _  Genji asked once, and Hanzo lost his breath.

 

_ ‘You talk about him in your sleep, anija,’  _ and that was Hanzo, fucked.  

 

Hopeless.  

 

Lovesick, and pathetic, and he doesn’t give a damn anymore.  Watching Jesse bleed out underground had done things to Hanzo, broken things he couldn’t fix until he barely recognized himself.  Hanzo hopes Jesse doesn’t need more than that, doesn’t want Hanzo to spell it out further, because he doesn’t think he’s capable.

 

Doesn’t think he can say with words what he says with his actions.  He’s chased Jesse all over the world, put his life at risk, jeopardized his future.  Hanzo isn’t subtle.

 

He isn’t subtle, and he doesn’t do things halfway, and Jesse knows how gone Hanzo is over him.  Has to know.

 

Sneaking into one of the most heavily protected military bases in western Europe just to see him is a declaration in and of itself, and Jesse isn’t the fool he pretends to be on undercover missions.

 

Jesse’s eyes are soft, shining with warmth, and he cups Hanzo’s jaw in one hand, nuzzling through his beard on the other side.

 

“Missed you too, Hanzo.  Missed you so damn much. God, what the fuck are we doing?”  Jesse asks, and Hanzo doesn’t have an answer, doesn’t know what to say.

 

Doesn’t know what they’re doing, only that he doesn’t want to stop.

 

“I think about you all the time, wonderin’ where you’re gonna show up next, wishin’ I could talk to ya,” he says, and Hanzo closes his eyes, and presses himself tighter against Jesse.  “You know my boss blacklisted me from missions in Japan? Said I was a liability there, wouldn’t let me go with my team to Kyoto.”

 

Jesse kisses him again, and Hanzo grins into his mouth.

 

“A wise decision on his part, really.  I would have gift wrapped that target for your team and then taken you before they realized what had happened,” Hanzo says, and this is normally where he would roll his partner over and take charge.  Straddle their hips, or get his hands on their cock. Anything so long as he was running things, controlling what passed between them.

 

Instead he stretches underneath Jesse, letting his arms fall down over his head, loose limbed and pliant.  Jesse sits up a little, drinking in the sight of Hanzo, one hand easing under his clothes to stroke over the warm skin of his hip.

 

“Y’look damn fine in this gear, darlin’,” Jesse says, and Hanzo shrugs, and pretends he isn’t pleased.

 

“I look damn fine in everything,” he replies, and Jesse laughs, and settles in between Hanzo’s legs.

 

“I reckon you’re right,” Jesse says, a palm sliding up Hanzo’s knee, over the swell of his thigh.  He eases them further apart, nuzzling back into Hanzo’s hair, and Hanzo throws his knees wide to make room.

 

They kiss for a while, Hanzo’s hands fisted in Jesse’s clothes, Jesse making breathy noises into his lips and neck and jaw.  He’s messy when Jesse breaks away again, wet-mouthed and gasping, and Jesse’s expression is something unfathomable.

 

“You saved my life in Marseille.  Doc Z said my bioshot woulda been too slow, that I would’ve bled to death before they could get to me,” Jesse says, and Hanzo hates the anxious flipping in his stomach, the way he’s worried over something that’s already come and gone.

 

Except it’s not gone, not really, not when Jesse is still going on missions, putting his life on the line.  

 

“You’ve been drinking too much whiskey,” he says, and Jesse blinks before he catches up with Hanzo’s meaning, a chagrined look on his face.

 

“Blackwatch’s funding ain’t exactly what it used to be, ‘n we don’t always got spare biotics to go around.  Saved my ass more’n once, actually, having that flask with me on a mission,” Jesse replies, voice heavy with gratitude, apologetic and sincere.

 

Jesse could die on a job somewhere, injured too badly for Blackwatch’s piss-poor biotics to fix in time, and Hanzo would be helpless to stop it.  He reaches over towards the nightstand, and comes back with a cell phone, black and sleek and ordinary. Jesse frowns at it, at the familiar model, the nondescript case.

 

“Now how the hell did you get ahold of my phone?” Jesse asks, patting at his pocket, frowning deeper when he realizes his phone is still there.  

 

“It’s identical to yours.  Cloned. Untraceable, but when you unlock it with your thumbprint, there will be an extra app there.”

 

Jesse takes the phone, swiping it on and pressing his thumb to the keypad.  Hanzo watches him scroll through the programs, finding one he doesn’t recognize, the icon designed to look like a dating app.  When he opens it there’s a message, an unread text from a contact marked ‘Ryu’.

 

_ How many unflattering photos of your squad do you really need?   _

 

Underneath it are several pictures of V, Josiah, and Serafin sleeping on various mission transports, drooling and unattractive, faces crushed against tables or smushed into the arms of chairs.  All of them have been pulled from Jesse’s own photo gallery, and Jesse looks from the phone to Hanzo and back again, a brilliant smile blossoming on his face. 

 

“Oh, sweetheart.  This is definitely a blatant invasion of privacy, but I don’t actually mind, and we can talk about how creepy you are later,” he says, and Jesse tosses the phone back on the nightstand, and kisses Hanzo fiercely.  With teeth, and tongue, hands rucking up Hanzo’s shirt, slipping down into his sweats to knead his ass. Hanzo digs his heels into Jesse’s back, urging them closer together and trying not whine.

 

Then it’s Hanzo who’s mumbling between kisses, bossy even swallowing down a whimper, biting at Jesse’s lips.

 

“Tell me when you need biotics, or gear, I’ll…  I’ll get them to you, even if I can’t get to you myself, I’ll make sure you have what you need.  You’re not some disposable Blackwatch  _ asset  _ for them to throw away like trash when they’re finished, I-”

 

Jesse hushes him.  Lays a thumb over his lips, and looks at Hanzo strangely.  Like Hanzo’s a mystery he can’t solve, and he smiles, a little baffled.

 

“Ya can’t protect me from everything, Hanzo,” he says, and Hanzo scoffs, like it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard.

 

“Of course I can,” he replies, Jesse buries his face in Hanzo’s neck, and stays there for a long time.  When he finally sits up again his eyes look wet, and he kisses Hanzo soft, and sweet.

 

“Okay,” Jesse says, and it doesn’t sound like an agreement, but Hanzo doesn’t press the subject.

 

Just lets Jesse tug off his clothes.  Lets Jesse put him right where he wants him— on his back in Jesse’s bed, hair haloed out on his pillows, hands fisted in his sheets.

 

Hours later Jesse is sleeping in Hanzo’s arms.  Snoring softly, and Hanzo is going to have to wake him up soon, tell him goodbye before he sneaks out of the Watchpoint.  He doesn’t yet, running a finger over the lines of Jesse’s jaw, up his cheekbone, across his eyebrows. If it was anyone else, anywhere else, Hanzo would have left them sleeping and made his escape.  Avoided any awkward conversation or uncomfortable, unwelcome affection. 

 

But this is Jesse, and Hanzo doesn’t want to leave at all.

 

Or he does, but he wants to take Jesse with him.  Bring him back to Hanamura, and keep him by his side, always.

 

“Come home with me,” he whispers, and he sounds raw and exposed.  It’s okay. Jesse can’t hear it, the vulnerability, how his voice shakes.

 

Jesse can’t hear it, and when he wakes up Hanzo doesn’t ask, because it’s far more than he deserves. 

 

Hanzo leaves the Watchpoint, and it’s like he was never there, a ghost haunting the halls.

 

Haunting Jesse, and Hanzo goes home alone.  Not back to Shimada castle, but to one of his safehouses, because Hanzo can’t bring himself to face the reality of his family just yet. There’s a message from Jesse when he gets there; it just says  _ ‘thief’,  _ and Hanzo buries his face in the fabric of Jesse’s hoodie, and smiles.

  
  



	5. Rivalry

Things are much the same after Hanzo leaves him again, yet very, very different.

 

There is a troubling amount of money in Jesse’s bank account, left to him by a great uncle he knows for a fact has never existed, but all the right documents are there.  No one in Jesse’s family is alive to contradict the paper trail; the birth certificate, the death certificate, the bare minimum of evidence. A poorly constructed persona, granted, but one that checks out after a cursory investigation.  Up to Blackwatch standards, at the very least, and Jesse doesn’t want to be pleased about it.

 

Doesn’t want to be, but he is all the same. 

 

Hanzo is willing to go to ridiculous lengths to make sure Jesse is taken care of, by any means necessary, and it hurts in a warm, achy sort of way that Jesse is loathe to give up.

 

When he asks Hanzo about the money he doesn’t bother playing dumb; he simply refuses to take it back. Jesse threatens to donate it all to charity, but Hanzo doesn’t rise to the bait.

 

_ Do as you like, I can invent as many imaginary deceased relatives as needed.  Would you like to name the next one? Something tacky and hillbilly, perhaps? _

 

Jesse would, actually, but he doesn’t bother, because he’s already figured out that Hanzo doesn’t bluff.  If Hanzo says he’ll do something he’s always willing to follow through, and he plays dirty. Not  _ just  _ dirty.

 

Hanzo plays to  _ win. _

 

A package arrives not long after Hanzo’s visit, and it isn’t particularly remarkable, except that Jesse never gets anything of the sort.  He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but he also isn’t surprised.

 

There’s more biotic whiskey inside.  A handful of high potency bioshots, and some compact biotic fields.  All of them small enough to be hidden on Jesse’s person, and he tucks them away in his gear, and tries not to feel guilty; knows he’ll pass the shots out among his team if he thinks they need them.  The whiskey and the fields, too.

 

There’s no point in coming home from a mission alive if he has to leave his team behind, or zip them up in body bags.  Hanzo might not like the logic, but he has a brother. One who tests the limits of his patience and is a never-ending source of frustration, apparently, but Jesse likes to think he’d understand.

 

The phone Hanzo left him feels like a lifeline.  

 

Hanzo has always been elusive, just out of reach, but now he’s in the palm of Jesse’s hand and it feels so damn good.  He’s not exactly chatty, and Jesse usually has to initiate their conversations, but he replies to Jesse’s texts without fail.  The time difference varies depending on where Jesse is, yet Hanzo is somehow always up too early, and awake too late, and dealing with entirely too much bullshit.

 

They dance around the specifics of what he does, mostly because Jesse isn’t sure he wants to hear all the gory details, but Overwatch’s intelligence files are clear enough on the things that matter.  The Shimada clan doesn’t traffick humans, and it doesn’t exploit sex workers, or deal drugs to children. There are always grey areas, and infighting, but if anything Hanzo seems to be more adamant about these things than his father had been, and Jesse’s willing to handwave the rest; Overwatch’s official standpoint on the clan right now is ‘hold and observe’, and that’s good enough.

 

Jesse was far from perfect before Reyes’ got hold of him, and he’s in no position to point fingers.

 

So Hanzo is vague, sometimes, and Jesse doesn’t push, but it’s clear he’s running himself ragged.  Reigning in his people, fighting down half-hearted rebellions within the clan’s ranks, preventing enemy factions from eating away at the edges of his territory.  His father hasn’t been dead all that long, and it seems that their enemies are rising up to test Hanzo’s resolve. To press, and provoke, to find Hanzo’s weakness.

 

At night Jesse lays in his bed with Hanzo’s ribbon between his fingers— soft and beautiful but stained with blood, just like Hanzo himself— and he wonders if that weakness is him.

 

Wonders how Hanzo managed to find time to hunt him down, to chase him across Europe, to sneak into the Watchpoint.  

 

Wonders how an undercover mission and a quick, risky fuck turned into this— Jesse texting Hanzo before bed every night, and when he wakes up every morning, and on and off all day in between.  He sends selfies sometimes, and Hanzo doesn’t always reciprocate, but when he does Jesse short circuits. There’s never any warning, and he’s never, ever ready.

 

Could never be ready for the sight of Hanzo in a bath, hair wet and spilling down over his shoulders, cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the water.  Hanzo laying on a futon, head pillowed on his bicep, drowsy and barely there. 

 

Hanzo at a desk, chin resting in his hand, rolling his eyes at whatever stupid thing Jesse texted him recently.

 

Hanzo is halfway across the world, and Jesse crawls into bed by himself like he always has, but it’s less lonely, less monotonous.

 

Less miserable when Hanzo is calling him foolish, and feigning ignorance about pop culture.

 

When Hanzo is telling him goodnight.   _ Rest easy, cowboy,  _ and it’s just words on his screen, but it’s enough.

 

Jesse rests easy, and it’s enough.

 

-

 

Months drag by slow and steady, and Jesse is glad that things are going well with Hanzo, because Blackwatch is fracturing around him.

 

Little by little, an insidious sort of decay that isn’t immediately obvious.  Something he would have missed, except he’s looking for it now, aware of it.

 

And now that he’s aware, it’s impossible to look away.

 

Their funding is already stretched thin, but Overwatch is intent on cutting it further; it’s hard to justify a budget for a covert operations unit that can’t be disclosed to the UN, and they’re running jobs on nothing but fumes.

 

There’s less recon before they’re sent in on missions.  Less redundancy, less backup, less time off between rotations.  Blackwatch is doing more ops than ever, and it’s wearing everyone down, slowly but surely.  Jesse runs through the biotics Hanzo sends, and then gives in and dips into his pseudo-inheritance to get more.  They’re not as good, Jesse can’t get his hands on the same quality that Hanzo can, but it’s better than the generic, watered down shots they’re issued by the medics before a job.

 

Josie asks where he’s getting them once, but the look on Jesse’s face must be answer enough, because he doesn’t ask again.  Serafin signs  _ thanks, boss,  _ and that’s the end of their discussion on the matter.  Jesse can’t say he expected anything else. V just narrows her eyes at him, cybernetic iris shifting and strobing and twisting, a sure sign she’s doing that thing again— running analysis without thinking as if Jesse’s going to give himself away somehow, when there’s nothing to give away.

 

V already knows everything there is to know about Hanzo.  Jesse needs someone inside Blackwatch to know, and V is the most level headed, the least likely to overreact.  She takes the biotics, and doesn’t hesitate to use them, doesn’t flinch when the needles go in. Knows Jesse wouldn’t give her anything that would hurt her, and the trust there is beautiful, and blind.

 

It’s manageable— the long hours, and the lack of gear, and the minimal support— until it isn’t anymore.

 

Gabriel is on a job of his own, some joint operation they’re collaborating with the UN on that has him creeping through the rainforest in Bolivia.  Jesse and his crew aren’t slotted for a mission until the next week, and he’s in his barracks half-asleep when his comm pings.

 

O’Deorain has his squad assembled in the briefing room in no time, passing out a dossier on their target, so much of the intel redacted that it’s almost useless.  Time sensitive, she says, and something in Jesse twitches uneasily.

 

There’s a chain of command, and O’Deorain has the clearance to send them out when Gabe is unavailable, but it’s never happened before now.  Jesse doesn’t like it, but when he asks for his current personnel authorization code, she recites them without a hitch. Short of outright insubordination there’s not much he can do.  Refusing the job will land him and the rest of Holliday squad in deep shit, and Jesse’s not sure he’s capable of digging his way out, not with the state that Blackwatch is in right now.

 

Then she asks for their phones, and their tablets, and anything else that might pose a security risk.  Black Dog protocols, Moira insists, and rattles off another set of codes.

 

Everyone looks to Jesse, waiting to see what he’ll do, ready to follow his lead.  His stomach drops, and he holds his breath, but everything checks out on the surface.  Moira has the right signatures, the right codes, the right files.

 

He thinks of Gabriel, crawling through the ass end of Bolivia with a two man crew, wrist still wrapped from an injury.  Short on gear, and time, and people, but out there. 

 

Doing his fucking job, and Jesse passes over his phone, and his comm.  His squad follows suit and an hour later they’re on a transport, wheels up, headed to Shanghai.

 

-

 

_ This is bullshit,  _ Serafin signs in clipped motions, and Jesse knows he’s right.  It is, in fact, bullshit. More bullshit than he’d anticipated.

 

Things seemed mostly above board until they got en route, and then started rolling downhill fast.

 

None of them recognize the pilot flying them out, and she doesn’t introduce herself, or try and make small talk.  There are no supplies in the back. Once they get in the air Jesse checks, and boxes that are usually full of surplus ammunition and medical kits are all empty.  

 

_ Bullshit,  _ Serafin reiterates, and Jesse flexes his jaw, and tries to stay calm.

 

_ Sera’s right,  _ Josie adds, fingers moving deftly in front of his chest,  _ this is not kosher.  I don’t like it. _

 

V taps Jesse on the arm to draw his attention, and he looks over to watch her hands.

 

_ The pilot is one of O’Deorain’s techs.  This is a medical transport, not an operations vehicle, which means none of us know how to fly it.  I analyzed the comms they issued us, and they don’t have the capacity to transmit all the way to control, they’re short range.   _

 

Josie waves his arm to draw their eyes, his signs sloppy with anger.

 

Or maybe desperation.

 

_ O’Deorain is sending us in blind, with no evac, no communication, and no support.  This is us fucked, boss. _

 

Jesse’s chest is tight in a way it’s only been twice before— when Deadlock got raided, and he was staring down the barrels of a pair of shotguns, out of ammo with a broken leg.

 

When he was in a basement in Marseille, bleeding from his thigh, darkness swimming on the edges of his vision.

 

Death, slipping into his space, reaching out to touch.  Ready, and waiting, but Jesse isn’t going without a fight.

 

He pulls his phone from a hidden pocket in his gear— the phone Hanzo gave him, and Jesse isn’t sure why he kept the other one all this time, but it doesn’t matter.  Moira can have it, because it’s worthless.

 

It doesn’t have Hanzo.

 

Jesse’s fingers don’t shake as he types out a text without looking, down low so the pilot can’t see.  There are messages from Hanzo, but he can’t read them, can’t take the chance of Moira’s pilot seeing his phone.

 

_ Shipping out to shanghai, feels like something’s up.  Doesn’t look good. Wanted to see you again, though, so I guess I’m gonna have to push through _

 

_ G’night, Hanzo _

 

_ Wish me luck _

 

Gabriel’s too far away to help, so Jesse doesn’t bother texting him, not when it would just be a distraction.  The last thing he wants to do is put Gabe in danger, too. The others are watching as he tucks his phone away, and he winks at them, leans back in his seat.

 

Jesse’s been beating the odds all his life.  What’s one more roll of the dice?

 

-

 

Jesse rolls low.

 

Jesse rolls low, and his squad is stuck in an abandoned set of metro tunnels underneath Shanghai, pinned down on all sides.  

 

They weren’t really being sent after a target.  They were being sent as a distraction, a smoke screen to keep another set of mercenaries from taking the target first.

 

They were an escape plan, and it worked beautifully, because their boy ghosted as soon as the first bullets started flying, leaving a bunch of Talon agents behind to ensure he got away clean.

 

Now Jesse’s taking cover behind the shell of a rusted out train car in the dark, enemy fire pinging metallic all around, Josiah swearing low in Spanish.  He’s bleeding from a wound in his gut, an entry with no exit where a bullet managed to breach his body armor, and nobody says anything about how pale he is, how shaky, how weak.  V and Sera are both dry, and V has commandeered Josie’s sidearm, and is working her way steadily through his ammo as he struggles to patch himself up.

 

There’s another team of mercenaries coming up on their flank, they know there is, but there isn’t a lot they can do about it except wait.  Josie has some charges planted, but they didn’t make it far enough down the tunnels after he set them, and if he blows them now he might bring the whole place down on their heads.

 

“I got about ten rounds left, boss,” V says, ducking down next to Jesse with a grunt.  “I’m good but I don’t know if I’m that good, there’s a least ten down there, and another seven or eight coming up on our six.”

 

She’s hit, too, but it’s her left bicep, and no one has time to be concerned about it right then.  Jesse can see the circuitry imbedded in her skin glowing where her sleeve is torn, the blue light tinted purple with her blood.  Her right eye is glinting blue as well, cybernetics whirring and scanning, trying to find an escape where there is none.

 

All that tech, and she still can’t drag them out the hole he’s dug for them.

 

Jesse wipes gore out of his eyes as it drips from a slash on his forehead, a graze he’d taken early on that has been fucking up his visibility ever since.  Serafin’s the only one not wounded outright, but he’s not answering when Jesse asks him questions, and Jesse eventually reaches down to tap him on the shoulder.  Says something, and Sera shakes his head. Hooks a finger over his ear, and then mimes an explosion beside it— his hearing aid is blown, and Jesse just nods his understanding.  Signs  _ okay,  _ but it’s not.

 

Absolutely nothing is okay right now.

 

Jesse has three bullets, a flashbang, and a compact biotic field.  His last biotics of any sort, and it’ll give their position away, but he pops the field anyway, and sets it down next to Josie with a grim nod.  Josiah goes loose and relaxed, letting out a ragged breath, patting absently at Jesse’s calf.

 

_ Thanks, Doc,  _ he signs, and Jesse doesn’t think he even knows he’s not speaking out loud, but it doesn’t matter.

 

He can hear the mercenaries coming up behind them, just around the curve in the tunnel.  Talon is up ahead, and they’re regrouping, getting ready to push forward. If there was anywhere to hide they could just let the two groups take each other out, but they’re far too exposed, and there’s nowhere to go.  When Jesse looks down he catches Serafin pressing a kiss to Josiah’s temple before pulling out his knives and crouching protectively in front of him. V is at Jesse’s back, leaning into him, a warm, solid weight there with Josie’s gun up at the ready.  

 

They’re going down, but they’re going down together, and they’re taking as many of these fucks with them as is humanly possible.  The mercenaries come around the corner, weapons high. Jesse aims, and everything slows down, eye lighting up as the world falls still around him, but there’s too many of them.

 

Jesse fires, and they fire, and he closes his eyes and thinks,  _ Hanzo. _

 

_ I’m sorry. _

 

There’s a  _ whump,  _ and the sound of metal on metal, but like Jesse has never heard before.  He opens his eyes, and there are a half dozen figures surrounding his squad, all dressed in black.  They’re carrying swords,  _ fucks sake,  _ and one of them is slashing quickly back in forth in front of himself, deflecting the bullets back at the mercenaries.  

 

It’s impossible, except it’s not, because the mercs are dropping like flies as the ricochets land on them.  Most of them fall down in heap, and the few that remain standing quickly catch blades in their throats, fast enough that Jesse almost misses it.  Not knives, the throw is all wrong.

 

They’re shuriken, and Jesse grabs V’s weapon, and points the barrel at the ground before she can fire on their rescuers.

 

Their leader says something low, obviously giving orders, even if Jesse doesn’t know what he’s saying.

 

Because he’s speaking Japanese, and Jesse watches, and waits.

 

Five of the figures peel off, running the opposite direction towards the Talon forces on the other side of his squad’s makeshift cover, and Jesse hears the wet crunch of blades in flesh.  It’s beautiful in a way it’s never been, and he looks up at their leader, and cocks his head.

 

The man stands up out of his crouch, and tugs off the hood he’s wearing to reveal a shock of green hair.  Pulls the mask covering his mouth down, and smiles, wide and bright and far too pleased with himself for someone with a bloody sword in his hand and a pile of bodies behind him.

 

“Hanzo couldn’t make it but he said to give you his love,” he says, and Jesse laughs.

 

“No he didn’t,” Jesse says, and the man grins wider.

 

“No, he really didn’t,” he replies, reaching down to offer Jesse his hand.  “You must be Jesse. I’m Genji, I’m sure you’ve heard all about me,” Genji adds, and Jesse takes his hand, and pulls himself up.

 

“Yeah, all about how you’re a little shit,” Jesse says, and Genji laughs, and leans in close.

 

“I’m big enough where it counts, cowboy,” he lilts in Jesse’s ear, and Jesse shoves him away half-heartedly with a grin.  

 

“Not that I ain’t grateful, but what in the FUCK are you doing here, Genji?”

 

Genji’s crew comes back, blades shining red as they chatter in Japanese, and Genji waves a hand dismissively at Jesse.

 

“Perhaps we can discuss all this on the way to the… how do you say, safe home?  Hideout?”

 

“Safehouse?” Jesse suggests, and Genji nods, and waves again.

 

“Yes, that.  We need to get out of here before Talon’s reinforcements arrive, and especially before the Shanghai police decide they have a duty to investigate all this noise,”  Genji says, and Jesse’s inclined to agree.

 

He’s not sure if O’Deorain has any more surprises in store for them, but he’s not looking to find out.  Josiah pockets the biotic field, and his squad looks like they have more than a few questions, but they don’t ask any of them.

 

Just follow Jesse’s lead like they always do, even when they shouldn’t.  

 

Even when it lands them half-dead under Shanghai, eating bullets and ready to check out.

 

Jesse tucks that down where it can’t fuck with him, and they go.

 

-

 

Genji’s safehouse is just a hotel room, but Jesse isn’t about to complain.  He fires off some messages to Reyes on the way there, and reads the ones Hanzo has sent him, both before and after his own message earlier.

 

_ I thought you weren’t scheduled for a mission until next week. _

 

_ Did they give you downtime off base? _

 

_ Your location is pinging somewhere over Turkey. _

 

_ Jesse? _

 

Then Jesse’s messages, and afterwards,  _ I don’t know what’s going on, and I can’t leave right now.  I’m handling a… situation, but I’m sending Genji. Try not to kill him.  It can be difficult, but do your best. _

 

And then, hours later,  _ tell me you’re okay. _

 

Jesse answers with  _ your brother is kind of a fuckboy  _ instead, because it’s absolutely true.

 

Genji spends the trip to the hotel flirting shamelessly with both V and Serafin.  Josie is limping along at the rear with Jesse, biotic field working slow and steady on his wound, or he’d surely be hitting on him as well.  V is flirting back, but no one seems to have the heart to tell Genji that Sera can’t hear a word he’s saying.

 

As soon as they get inside the room Genji’s crew pops a couple of fresh biotic fields, and the warm glow of them is enough to have Jesse’s eyelids drooping in relief.  His phone rings, and he answers without looking, because it can only be one person.

 

“Hanzo,” he says, and Hanzo exhales on the other end, rough and shaky.

 

“What happened?” Hanzo demands, and Jesse collapses into a shitty hotel chair, and smiles.

 

“Nice talkin’ to you too, sweetheart.  How’ve you been? How’s the family?” Jesse asks with forced cheer, and Hanzo is not amused.

 

_ “Jesse,”  _ he hisses, and Jesse covers his face with his palm, breath hitching.

 

“You can’t keep savin’ me like this, darlin’. I’m liable to get the wrong idea,” Jesse says, and Hanzo sighs.

 

“Have whatever idea you like, as long as you stop being so reckless,” Hanzo replies, and Jesse nods, even though Hanzo can’t see it.  

 

He tells Hanzo what happened, about how wrong everything went.  O’Deorain, and their bad intel, and their nonexistent evac. Hanzo is quiet for a long while, and Jesse just listens to him breathe, everyone in the hotel speaking softly all around him.  Genji’s crew is positioned along the edges of the room, alert but not on edge, talking in low tones with one another. V checks Josie’s injury, and he’s mumbling something back to her that Jesse can’t quite hear.

 

“Is there anyone in Blackwatch you can trust to get you back to base?”  Hanzo asks finally, voice tight, giving nothing away.

 

“Mmm, yeah, I mean.  Reyes is solid, and I trust him, but he’s off base right now.  Might be awhile before I can get ahold of him.”

 

There is a beat of silence, and then-

 

“I’ll be there soon,” Hanzo says simply, and hangs up.

 

Jesse stares at his phone for a moment, and then looks at Genji, who’s grinning again.

 

“He’s coming, I take it?”  Genji asks.

 

“I reckon so,” Jesse says, and Genji snorts.

 

“You  _ reckon,”  _ he parrots, accent exaggerated and absurd.  Genji flounces down in the chair across from Jesse, and gestures at all of him with splayed fingers.  “Hanzo usually has decent taste, not sure what happened here,” he says, but it’s teasing, and Jesse shrugs.

 

“Mmm, your taste seems to be varied, up to and including anythin’ with two legs,” Jesse replies, and Genji cocks his head, considering.

 

“They don’t have to have legs, really.  I don’t discriminate,” Genji says, and Jesse laughs.  Waves his hand at Serafin, and signs swiftly.

 

_ They tell you this boy wants to sit on your dick, Sera? _

 

Serafin’s eyes narrow, and he looks Genji up and down, mouth curling up in a predatory smile.

 

_ Does he now?   _ Serafin signs back, and Genji watches, and makes a noise in his throat.  

 

“You mean I wasted all those lines on the way back?  He couldn’t hear me?” Genji asks, sounding distraught, turning towards Sera with earnest eyes.  “Can you read lips?” Sera makes a gesture with his hand, so-so, and shrugs.

 

“You have an accent,” Serafin says, still smirking, “it’s hard to make out but I bet you sound cute.”

 

Genji’s answering smile is like bright like the sun, and Jesse rolls his eyes, and catches Serafin’s gaze again.  Points at V and Josiah, then at Genji.

 

_ He know you come as a set?   _ Jesse asks, and Serafin just turns around, and starts signing back and forth with them.  

 

Josiah tends to speak out loud as he signs, but V and Sera don’t, and the conversation is one sided at best.  

 

“What are they saying?”  Genji asks, and it’s tempting to bullshit him, but Jesse  _ is  _ actually in his debt, so he answers honestly.

 

“I think they’re negotiating a foursome.  You don’t get one without the others,” Jesse replies, and tries not laugh at the utter glee that lights up Genji’s eyes.  “Wait, is it a foursome? When does it become an orgy?”

 

“I think you need five people for an orgy,” Genji says, distracted, watching the others have their mostly silent conversation with rapt attention.

 

They debate the semantics of foursomes versus orgies versus swinging for a while, but eventually some sort of consensus must be reached, because Josie, V, and Serafin disappear into the bathroom with Genji.

 

Jesse asks himself how he got here, studiously ignoring the sounds of his squad fucking a thirsty twink of a crime lord on the shitty side of Shanghai, totally nonplussed yakuza conversing nearby like it’s just another Tuesday.

 

They’re still in the bathroom an hour or so later when someone’s phone rings; one of Genji’s crew.  He answers, gives a monosyllabic response, then promptly hangs up. A few words has everyone on their feet, and there’s no more warning before Hanzo sweeps into the room.  Dressed in a gi, except fancier than any Jesse’s ever seen. There’s blood high on Hanzo’s cheekbone, on his clothes in splatters, knuckles stained pink with it.

 

His eyes find Jesse, and linger there for a moment, some of the tension in his shoulders visibly relaxing.  His men are all poised for action, and he says something Jesse can’t understand that sends them all for the door.  Hanzo pats one of them on the shoulder; wraps his palm around the back of another’s neck, and presses their foreheads together for a second, whispering something low.  They’re all reverent, and respectful, and it’s clear they’re not just members of the Shimada clan.

 

These are Hanzo’s men, through and through, and Jesse’s grateful for them.

 

Then everyone is gone, leaving only Hanzo and Jesse behind.  

 

Jesse reaches out thoughtlessly, making a needy gesture with his hands, and Hanzo is in his lap in an instant.

 

He loses himself, world realigning with Hanzo at its center, and there is nothing else.

 

Hanzo palms Jesse’s cheeks, holding on too tight, kissing Jesse like he’s dying.  Like it’s the only chance he’s going to get, and Jesse wraps his arms around Hanzo’s waist, and pulls him closer.  Hanzo’s fingers are in his hair, petting over his face, desperate like they’ve never been. Jesse wants to ask why he’s covered in blood, wants to know what happened to him, but can’t find the air in between Hanzo’s breathless kisses.

 

Hanzo can, though.  Pulls back, just enough to break their lips apart, to slip his thumb in and rub it back and forth over Jesse’s mouth.  Foreheads together, hand curled around his neck, fingers scratching through the tangle of hair there.

 

“Come to Hanamura with me,” he says earnestly, and Jesse’s eyes go wide and shocked.  “Or- or don’t, if you don’t want to, but don’t go back to Blackwatch. You’re not safe, you have enough money, I can give you more, you… you don’t have to go back there, Jesse.  You don’t owe them anything.”

 

There isn’t any air in the room, and it takes a minute before Jesse can form any kind of coherent reply.

 

“Hanzo, I-  I can’t, what about my squad?  You gonna play sugar daddy to a quartet of spec op agents?  And what are they gonna think if we all drop off the grid all of a sudden, no bodies, no communication?  They’ll come looking for us, baby. And I need to talk to Gabriel, Moira left us for fucking dead, and he needs to know.  I can’t leave him in the dark with a snake in his house like that. Not after everythin’ he’s done for me.”

 

Hanzo glares, tugging lightly on Jesse’s hair.

 

“I am not your  _ sugar daddy,”  _ he spits, and Jesse laughs, because of course that’s what Hanzo takes issue with first.  

 

“I know you’re not, I know.”

 

“Call your boss, tell him what he needs to know.  Talk it out with your squad. They’re  _ killing you,  _ Jesse.  It’s not if, it’s when.  You’re not going to retire from Blackwatch an old man with medals on your chest.  They’ll pin them on your corpse, and then they’ll put you in ground,” Hanzo says, voice shaking, whisper soft.

 

His hands are shaking, too.  Just a little, and Jesse takes them in his own, and holds them still.

 

“What about you, then?  Lots of yakuza in retirement homes back in Japan?  Am I s’posed to watch you get your hands dirty, sittin’ pretty like some kinda pet?  ‘S blood on your cheek, Hanzo, on your clothes. I ain’t even gonna try and guess what kinda ‘business’ kept you from coming here yourself first, ‘stead of sending Genji.”

 

Hanzo lifts his chin high.  His eyes are on fire, and he’s beautiful, and vicious, and made of steel.

 

“If you go, I’ll go,” he says, and Jesse hurts inside, because he can’t.  He can’t.

 

Hanzo loves him, is willing to give Jesse everything, and he can’t fucking go.

 

“That ain’t fair, darlin’,” Jesse says, but it’s a lie, and Jesse can hardly stand the taste of it in his mouth.  Hanzo closes his eyes, face turning away from Jesse like he’s been slapped, and he breathes in slow, and holds it. “I can’t leave everything like this, I gotta see if I can set things straight.  It ain’t just about me, and my squad. I fucked up my life, and Blackwatch gave me a new one. It don’t sit right to give up so easy. I gotta try, Hanzo.”

 

The silence stretches on forever, and Jesse is counting his heartbeats.  Counting Hanzo’s heartbeats, palm curved around Hanzo’s throat. Thumb tilting up his jaw, pulse thrumming fast under Jesse’s hand.

 

“You can’t keep doing this to me, Jesse.  You promised to take care of yourself,” he says, and Jesse sighs helplessly.

 

“I’m trying.  God, I’m fucking trying, baby.”

 

“Try harder,” Hanzo says, and brings their mouths back together, kissing Jesse soft.

 

Kisses him, and kisses him, and doesn’t stop.

 

They’re still making out when Genji and the rest of Jesse’s squad emerge from the bathroom, steam billowing out into the room.  Josiah whistles, and V retches, and Genji laughs.

 

Serafin just signs  _ get it, boss man,  _ and Jesse lets his head fall back against the chairs, and thinks maybe he made a mistake.

 

Maybe he should leave them after all.

  
  



	6. Proprietary

The bed is enormous, a sprawling king piled high with plush blankets and expensive sheets, but all that space is going to waste.  Hanzo leans against the headboard with Jesse’s head pillowed in his lap, arms wrapped tight around Hanzo’s middle, face nuzzled into his stomach. 

 

The safehouse Genji had chosen was practical but filthy, and Hanzo had relocated them to something better right away.  Something better being the most expensive hotel in Shanghai, but what good is it leading a clan of yakuza if he can’t indulge himself from time to time?

 

Two of their clan mates, Genji, and Jesse’s squad are in the next suite over from Hanzo’s, doing who knows what to pass the time.  Well. Hanzo knows, but he doesn’t want to think too much about it right now, so he doesn’t.

 

The remaining four of Hanzo’s men are in the living area of his own suite, separated from him by a thin wall and an open door; they’re speaking in low voices, standing watch.  Hanzo doesn’t think there is any lingering danger, but he can’t be sure, and it is better to be safe.

 

Better to keep  _ Jesse  _ safe.

 

Jesse snores softly, covers falling down around his hips, the tanned, scarred skin of his back on display just for Hanzo; he’s been sleeping hard since the lingering adrenaline of his fight wore off and Hanzo isn’t in any rush to wake him.  They’d kissed for a while, and gotten undressed, but Jesse was drunk with exhaustion. He drifted off under Hanzo’s gentle petting. Now Hanzo plays with his hair, and runs his fingers over Jesse’s eyebrows. Traces over the scars on his shoulders, over his lips, scratches through his beard.  Commits it all to memory, even if there’s no real need.

 

Hanzo took pictures already; he’s well past being embarrassed. 

 

Everything is quiet.  They’re high enough in the air that the sights and sounds of downtown Shanghai are nothing more than flickering lights outside their windows, muffled and faraway.  It’s peaceful, and Hanzo isn’t stupid enough to take these moments for granted, this stillness eked out in the chaos of their lives.

 

Jesse in his arms, safe and whole; for the moment he belongs to Hanzo, and no one else.  Not Blackwatch, not Overwatch, not Reyes.

 

Just Hanzo, and he breathes Jesse’s scent, and drinks in the sight of him, and tries not to break.

 

Jesse’s phone is plugged into an outlet next to the bedside table, and it’s been ringing intermittently for an hour or so, but Hanzo hasn’t bothered to answer.  None of Jesse’s squad have their phones, and if Genji needs something, he’ll just barge through the door. No, it’s likely Jesse’s commander, and Jesse needs rest more than he needs to brief his boss on just how badly Blackwatch has fucked up this time.  

 

How badly Blackwatch has fucked him over, this time.

 

The screen lights up again, and Hanzo looks over to watch letters scroll over it,  _ Boss Man.  _

 

Boss man.  The person who is supposed to be looking out for Jesse, and Hanzo can’t fight down a snarl.  Anger swells in him, righteous indignation, and Hanzo reaches over and unplugs the phone, swiping to answer the call and lifting it to his ear.

 

“Jesse, what the fuck is going on, been calling you for an hour and half!  The trace on your phone is coming back as on base, which I have serious goddamn questions about.  I need coordinates and a sitrep on you and your squad immediately. You need to tell me what the fuck is going on out there, agent,” a voice barks in Hanzo’s ear, and he cocks up an eyebrow.

 

“Gabriel Reyes, I presume?”  Hanzo says, and there’s deadly quiet on the other end for several long moments.

 

“Hanzo Shimada,” he says, and Hanzo smirks in spite of himself.  

 

Can’t help that knee-jerk instinct to preen when his reputation precedes him, even if it’s misplaced right now.

 

“May I ask why there’s a fucking  _ yakuza  _ answering my agent’s phone?”  Reyes spits, poorly contained frustration seeping into every word.

 

Hanzo sighs, fingers sinking into the silky strands of Jesse’s hair, some of them shining coppery in the dim light of the lamp in the corner.  

 

“You’re not taking very good care of my things, Commander Reyes,” Hanzo says, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder and running his palm gently back and forth over Jesse’s shoulder blades.  Jesse makes a contented noise but doesn’t wake, and Hanzo listens to Reyes’ furious silence for a while. 

 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Jesse isn’t a _ thing,”  _ Reyes says, and Hanzo can’t help but sneer;  if anyone is treating Jesse like an object, it’s this man.

 

“No, he’s not a thing, but he is  _ mine,  _ and I don’t appreciate him being put at risk.  Not like this. Jesse isn’t some Blackwatch  _ dog  _ you can point wherever you like with no regard for the shape he’s in when he returns from a hunt.  He almost died tonight. Would have died, if my people hadn’t gotten there in time, and that blood would have been on your hands.  Would it have bothered you, Gabriel? Would you have lost sleep over your  _ agent  _ turning up dead, all because you couldn’t keep your house in order?”

 

Reyes makes a sound, like he’s sucking air through his teeth, and shifting the phone on his ear.

 

“I am not having this conversation with you.  I don’t have to explain myself to the head of a criminal empire who happened to decide he wanted to adopt one of my men like some kind of puppy _.    _ He’s not a stray, he doesn’t belong to you, and it’s time to send him home.  I need to know my people are safe, where they are, and I need to know now. Put Jesse on.”

 

He says it the way Hanzo gives orders to his men, like there’s no question of obedience, and Hanzo wants to laugh.  He hums, untangling Jesse’s hair, reveling in the feel of Jesse’s skin under his palm. Jesse nuzzles further into Hanzo, mumbling something sleepy and pleased before settling again, and Hanzo doesn’t think Reyes understands.

 

Jesse  _ is  _ his—  _ wants  _ to be— and Hanzo may have to let him go back to Blackwatch, but he doesn’t have to do it right now.

 

And he definitely doesn’t answer to Gabriel fucking Reyes.

 

“Mmmm, no, I don’t think I will.  He’s sleeping, and I’m not going to wake him up to listen to your bullshit.  I’ll text you a number where you can reach your squad, and when he wakes up, perhaps he’ll contact you.  Perhaps not. Jesse’s smarter than you give him credit for. Maybe he’s learned just how misguided his loyalties are after they nearly got him killed.”

 

“Shimada, I swear to god—”

 

“While we’re swearing,” Hanzo interrupts, sitting up and taking the phone back in hand, “I have a promise to make you.  If Jesse goes out on another mission like this one, if he ends up dead because of your negligence? Not because he is doing his job, but because of you?  I’ll come find you myself. You, and whoever else is responsible. I’ll burn you alive, Reyes. I’ll burn Blackwatch to the fucking ground if I have to, I  _ swear it.   _ I have done worse things for less, and you’d do well not to forget.”

 

Hanzo ends the call.  Texts Reyes the number of Genji’s burner phone, and switches Jesse’s cell off, only just resisting the urge to fling it across the room.  Jesse shifts restlessly in his lap, and Hanzo threads his fingers through Jesse’s hair again, and shushes him. Coaxes him back to sleep with whispered words and gentle hands, and Jesse smacks his lips a couple of times, and goes still.

 

Just for Hanzo, and he keeps his hand moving slowly up and down Jesse’s back, and doesn’t sleep.

 

-

 

Jesse’s throat marks beautifully under Hanzo’s mouth.

 

Hanzo straddles him in the decadent mess of their hotel bed, sheets rumpled beneath them, pillows fallen off into the floor.  He’s got Jesse’s wrists pinned over his head, and Hanzo sucks bruise after bruise into him, canines sharp, tongue lazy. Meticulous, like he’s trying to cover as much of Jesse as possible in the violet-red of his affection,  paint him in dark shades of want. Jesse whimpers, grinding up into Hanzo in stuttering, erratic bursts, bare feet sliding against the blankets. Hanzo has been at this a while now, and Jesse is so hard against him that it must be painful, but Hanzo is in no hurry.

 

He wants Jesse wearing his teeth in his skin long after he’s gone.  Wants Jesse to be sore with it, to see the black and blue of Hanzo’s kisses in the mirror.

 

Wants to stay with Jesse, an ache he’s loathe to heal, a wound Jesse hopes will scar.

 

Jesse clenches his fists and arches off the mattress at a particularly vicious bite, making a ragged noise, cock leaking where it’s nudging against Hanzo’s belly.

 

“Baby, baby  _ please,”  _ Jesse whines, and Hanzo kisses his way up Jesse’s jaw.  Licks into his mouth, swallowing down the desperate sounds Jesse makes, hips rolling in teasing circles.  

 

When he pulls back Jesse tries to follow, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving.  Hanzo cocks his head, clenching his fingers tighter around Jesse’s wrists, squeezing his thighs where they bracket Jesse’s waist.

 

“Please what?” Hanzo asks, and Jesse groans.

 

“Need you, darlin’, I— I get it, okay, I— I’ll be more careful, promise, just…  _ please,” _ he says, and Hanzo runs the flat of his tongue over Jesse’s open mouth, and then breaks off.  Lays his cheek against Jesse’s and lets go of his hold on Jesse’s wrists, palms running down his forearms.  He wraps his arms around Jesse’s neck, and holds on; tighter than he should, suffocating.

 

Like he can keep Jesse there if he just clings hard enough, and refuses to let go.  Some of the urgency of his desire ebbs back, replaced with something more desperate, something more vital.  Hanzo doesn’t just need Jesse’s body.

 

Hanzo needs all of him, always.

 

“Tell me you’ll come with me,” Hanzo says, and it’s that voice he only uses with Jesse, just the wrong side of pleading.  “It doesn’t have to be right now, I- I can wait, but promise me. Don’t make me watch them bury you, Jesse. I can’t. I won’t,” Hanzo insists, raw and open, vulnerable in a way that makes his chest hurt.

 

Jesse slides his arms around Hanzo, and buries his face in Hanzo’s neck.  Kisses him there, feather light, nose trailing up behind his ear. He’s gone still, breathing heavy, bending his knees to pull Hanzo tighter against him.  Jesse drags his face back and forth across Hanzo’s throat, hands clutching. Keeping Hanzo there.

 

Like it might be difficult, when it’s all Hanzo wants.

 

When Jesse speaks again his voice is fast, low, and ragged, a promise whispered against Hanzo’s pulse.

 

“You won’t have to, okay, you won’t.  Let me… let me go do what I gotta do back in Spain, get my shit squared, and then I’m finished, all right?  I’ll go with you. We can go together, leave all this shit behind.”

 

Hanzo nods, and tries not to believe him.  Hope is a dangerous thing with teeth and claws and Hanzo doesn’t know if he can survive it.  Jesse wouldn’t lie to him, but he might not be able to keep his promises, either. Blackwatch could swallow him whole without warning, as it almost had once already.  

 

Eat Jesse alive before Hanzo can get to him, and Hanzo, he’s so foolish for allowing this to happen.  For giving Jesse the power to gut him. To die, and leave Hanzo in pieces, empty and alone.

 

Hanzo is foolish but he has no regrets, and he’ll do what he has to do, what he must.  Whatever it takes to keep Jesse safe. Happiness isn’t something that happens by chance.  It’s something that has to be taken, and Hanzo isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty in the process.  

 

Sojiro was a monster, but then again so is Hanzo, and his father taught him one lesson very well.  

 

If Hanzo wants something badly enough, no one can stop him from taking it.

 

He kisses Jesse once more, roughly, before shoving two fingers into his mouth.  Jesse licks messily around them without prompting, tongue swirling, sucking Hanzo’s fingers down until he reaches the knuckle.  His eyes go heavy, his body loose under Hanzo— he makes a happy sort of noise, but Hanzo isn’t trying to indulge Jesse’s oral fixation at the moment, so he pulls his fingers out with a wet pop and lifts up on his knees.  

 

Hanzo presses them into himself, and Jesse groans, using his palms to spread Hanzo’s cheeks wider for him.  His fingertips dig into Hanzo’s thighs, into the swell of his ass, greedy and unapologetic.

 

Getting himself ready is quick work, especially with how eager Jesse is for him, mouthing at Hanzo’s nipples and kissing across his chest.  Jesse shifts one of his hands and closes a palm around Hanzo’s cock, stroking him slow as Hanzo’s fingers slide deeper. Hanzo is just as eager, just as impatient.  Frenzied, even, movements sloppy as he fingers himself open, shoving his chest into Jesse’s mouth with a high pitched whine. 

 

It’s the opposite of the placid moments he’d stolen earlier with Jesse dozing in his lap, the world silent, everything frozen and waiting.

 

Time is short, now.  Jesse will be going soon, heading back into the lion’s den that Blackwatch has become, and Hanzo cannot waste a single second.

 

He pulls his fingers free and takes Jesse’s cock in his fist, sliding down on it with merciless impatience.  It’s not slick enough, but between the mess of Jesse’s precome and Hanzo’s wet fingers, it will do. The stretch is sharp, but it’s what Hanzo needs right now— to feel every bit of Jesse, vividly.

 

“Oh,  _ sweetheart,”  _ Jesse gasps, hips bucking, spine bowing as he tucks his face into Hanzo’s shoulder.

 

Hanzo grinds down into Jesse, then starts riding him hard and fast.  There’s nothing elegant about it, nothing graceful— Hanzo takes, and takes, and Jesse gives him everything he asks for and more.  The way they move together is familiar, even if it shouldn’t be after only a handful of nights spent learning the rhythm. Hanzo falls into Jesse easily, as he always does, like he was made just for this.

 

To be Jesse’s, and only Jesse’s.

 

Jesse murmurs Hanzo’s name into his lips, and his cheek, and his jaw, hands sinking into Hanzo’s hair, body shivering underneath him.  Hanzo doesn’t mean to scratch lines down Jesse’s back, but he does, trying to get closer to Jesse when there’s already no space between them.  When he falters, hips stuttering and muscles tensing as he teeters on the edge of climax, Jesse picks up his slack. Fucks him through it, come smearing on Jesse’s stomach, across Hanzo’s cock.

 

He gets lost for a while, and Jesse’s warmth is all there is for him, all there needs to be.

 

When Hanzo stops shuddering Jesse pauses, palms moving affectionately up Hanzo’s spine, nose under his chin.

 

“Want me to stop?”  Jesse asks, and Hanzo shakes his head.

 

“Keep…  keep going,” he says.  Breathlessly.

 

Pleading.

 

Jesse doesn’t argue.  Just keeps rutting up into Hanzo, even as he twitches and jerks; over sensitive, every push and pull of Jesse’s cock too much yet somehow not enough.  Hanzo trembles against him, helpless to stop, totally overwhelmed with sensation.

 

Jesse is telling him things that will haunt him.  That will keep him awake at night, staring at the ceiling in the dark, alone and wounded.

 

Wounded, but vibrantly alive.  

 

_ So beautiful, darlin’, god.  You’re perfect, baby, can’t believe I get to keep you. _

 

“Love you, Hanzo, love you,” and Hanzo whimpers, and nods.  Comes again, and Jesse follows after him, saying the same thing again and again.

 

_ Love you, love you,  _ and Hanzo doesn’t say it back, but Jesse knows.

 

He knows.


	7. Unease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Josiah and Serafin are my own OC's, but V belongs to [kahl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahleniel/pseuds/Kahleniel).

_ He is out of control.  Especially when you are away.  There is no reasoning with him. _

 

They mean Genji, but Hanzo thinks about Jesse.

 

_ Things cannot continue this way, Hanzo.   _

 

The elders are right.  They cannot.

 

Hanzo takes a breath, and lets it out slow, hand fisted on the table in front of him.  Blue flares in his eyes, dragons coiling viciously. Hungry.

 

Eager.

 

Impatient, because something isn’t right with Jesse.  He’s not scheduled for a mission anytime soon, but Hanzo’s contact called earlier to let him know Jesse was on the move.  Leaving European airspace, and in a medical transport no less. There’s nothing on the Blackwatch roster that matches up with the intel, with the flight path.  Nothing on Overwatch’s plate, either.

 

There is no reason for Jesse to be in the air, flying hard and fast over Asia, but he still hasn’t responded to Hanzo’s questions.  There is nothing he can do right now but wait, and Hanzo hates that.

 

How helpless he really is when it comes to Jesse.

 

When he finally glances up a different elder is holding his gaze, eyes flitting over to the first for a moment before looking back.  He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, his palm on the table shifting, two fingers folding down with the rest splayed flat. A gesture he and Genji use at meetings when speaking the words would be imprudent, a silent proclamation of agreement.  Of support.

 

_ I am with you. _

 

They have always been subtle with their signaling, wary of the elders catching onto any wordless communication between them.  They have other signs, other gestures, but this one...

 

Only Genji could have told this elder what it meant.

 

Hanzo keeps his face carefully blank, the first elder still prattling on about honor, and duty, and respect.  About how Genji is undermining their entire empire, an insidious kind of poison. The elder acts as though it is some great burden he bears, bringing this to Hanzo, encouraging him to act.  Others are nodding along with him, grave but persistent, interjecting their agreement.

 

When Hanzo glances carefully around the table he sees at least a half dozen elders signing.  Some have their hands on their chests, as though scratching an itch. Others adjust their clothes, or push up their glasses.  Two fingers out, thumb forming an L, looking anywhere but Hanzo. He returns the gesture as discreetly as he can, still listening to the first elder ramble.

 

Not I am with you.

 

_ We  _ are with you, and Hanzo wonders if they realize what that entails.  If they are aware of the lengths he will go to protect his brother. 

 

The ends of the earth.

 

Whatever it takes.

 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he holds his palm up to silence the everyone.  Whatever they have to say can wait, and Hanzo swipes his screen to life, and lets out his breath in a rush.  There is a message from Jesse, finally, and something black and vicious twists in Hanzo’s guts. His eyes go brighter, glowing with power, light shimmering off his tattoos.

 

_ Shipping out to shanghai, feels like something’s up.  Doesn’t look good. Wanted to see you again, though, so I guess I’m gonna have to push through.  G’night, Hanzo. Wish me luck. _

 

Hanzo doesn’t believe in luck.

 

Hanzo believes in power.

 

He pockets his phone again and looks up, meeting the elders’ eyes one after another, waiting until he has their full attention.  His expression is dark. Resigned, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and Hanzo sighs.

 

It was inevitable, the elders’ chronic discontent taking form like this, but Hanzo had hoped to stall them a little longer.

 

“I need time to decide how I want to handle things.  We’ll reconvene in a few hours,” Hanzo says, and he doesn’t wait for a response before he stalks out of the room.

 

He needs to gather his men, and meet up with some of the elders to plan.

 

Needs to find Genji, and send him to Shanghai.

 

Needs to get his shit together, and keep everything from falling apart.  Just once more.

 

Just for tonight.

 

_ - _

 

It’s eerily quiet in Shimada castle.

 

The hush feels out of place; the utter stillness, the steady calm. 

 

The unbroken quiet held starkly against the destruction Hanzo is leaving in his wake.  There’s no screaming, no chaos, no noise.

 

Just blood on his clothes.  Blood on his sword where it lays at his feet, palm sliding wet on his bow for a moment before he tightens his grip.  There is a trail of bodies scattered through the halls of his home. 

 

Death in the temple.  Vengeance on the stairs.

 

_ You must do what needs to be done,  _ they’d said, and Hanzo had agreed.  He will always do what it takes to keep his own safe.  Jesse.

 

Genji.

 

He stands in the courtyard, clouds blotting out the stars, a puddle of blood spreading out underneath him.  Warm against his bare feet, torchlight reflected in it, crimson and unearthly. A lone figure runs in the distance, their gait uneven as they struggle to make it to the gates.  

 

To escape Hanzo’s wrath, when it is inescapable.

 

“Do you want me to stop him, boss?”

 

One of Hanzo’s men, standing at his side with gore splashed over his mouth. Hanzo shakes his head.

 

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, lifting his bow and nocking an arrow.  

 

Hanzo draws, cheek pressed against his bowstring, eyes lighting up vivid blue as he tracks his prey.  The weight of it is familiar. Like taking a breath, and his dragons rumble and coil in his skin, but Hanzo doesn’t need them right now.  

 

He can do this all on his own.

 

His arrow sails through the air, arcing gracefully through the night, a perfect shot.  Hanzo’s target is almost at the gates when it hits him, straight through the back of his neck, and he falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.  Hanzo watches him reach out with shaky hands, dragging himself another few feet over the wood, his blood black in the dimness as it smears across the planks behind him.  

 

Then he goes still, and Hanzo raises his chin, and lets his bow drop down by his side.

 

“Close the gates and gather the rest of the elders.  There is much to discuss, and we must clean up this mess,” he says, trying and failing to blink the light from his eyes.  “I have somewhere to be.”

 

-

 

It’s hard to let Jesse go.

 

It takes a while to arrange transport out of Shanghai for him and his squad.  Hanzo could send them back without issue, but arriving at an Overwatch facility in a plane full of yakuza wasn’t exactly ideal for anyone, so Reyes told them to sit tight and wait.

 

O’Deorain has gone to ground, taking a handful of techs and a slew of sensitive materials with her.  Research, intelligence files, personnel information. So much of Blackwatch is theoretically compromised that Reyes has to scramble to get his ducks in a row, but Hanzo doesn’t mind.

 

Spending hours lounging in a hotel bed with Jesse is no hardship.  

 

Hanzo is sore all over; Jesse’s teeth in his neck, Jesse’s fingerprints on his hips.  Jesse in his mouth, and against his skin, wrapped around Hanzo until he’s breathing him into his lungs.

 

_ Mine, mine, mine. _

 

Always.

 

It doesn’t last.

 

They get a call with a timeframe and a set of coordinates, and then Hanzo and Genji and their men are escorting Jesse and his squad through the back alleys of Shanghai.  They steal a pair of vehicles on the outskirts of town and drive them out to the countryside, the Shanghai skyline still visible in the distance, looming high and ominous.  When they eventually make it to their destination, it’s an Overwatch transport waiting on them; a behemoth sitting in a disused field, a pair of agents on the ground standing guard.  One in black, one in blue, both watching with suspicion as everyone piles out of the vehicles.

 

Everyone but Hanzo and Jesse, who are still tucked away in the backseat of one of the cars.  V disappears into the transport, cybernetics shivering with light, glitchy and strobing in a worrying manner.  Hanzo watches Serafin and Josiah say goodbye to Genji, kissing him on both cheeks at the same time, Josie scratching through his hair.  He’s grinning wide, lips moving around words Hanzo can’t hear. Sera raises his hands and signs, and Genji smiles, and signs something back.  Less smoothly, but it must be close enough, because Serafin nods and takes his hand.

 

Lifts it to his mouth, and kisses it, and Hanzo rolls his eyes at Genji’s obvious flustering.

 

“That’s sweeter than it has any right to be considerin’ I’ve seen all three of ‘em standing over a pile of bodies on at least one occasion,” Jesse says, and Hanzo turns to face him.  Fists a hand in Jesse’s shirt, and holds on tight— like it might keep him there.

 

Hanzo knows better.

 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jesse.  Don’t get caught up trying to bail water out of a sinking ship.”

 

Jesse tugs Hanzo against him, arms wrapped tight around his back, face buried in his hair.  Holds him, and breathes, and Hanzo isn’t shaking but it’s a close thing. 

 

It feels like he’s losing Jesse, here and now.  In the bright light of day, without an enemy in sight.

 

“I ain’t gonna, I swear, I’m…  I’m going with you, yeah? I’m going.  I just gotta get these loose ends tied first, make sure my guys are taken care of, and then I’m gone.”

 

Hanzo wonders if this is what it’s like watching someone drown.  Seeing them sink underwater, buried beneath unfeeling waves.

 

“How long?” Hanzo asks, hating himself for how weak he sounds; how small.  Jesse noses into Hanzo’s throat, pressing kisses there, soft and sweet.

 

“Few days.  A week, tops.  I’m coming back, alright?  Blackwatch has done a lot for me, but it ain’t worth dyin’ over.”

 

There are no things worth dying over, Hanzo has realized.  Only people.

 

“The things we die for seldom are,” Hanzo says, and he can feel it in his bones—  a formless, shapeless dread. But there is nothing he can he say, nothing he can do.

 

Hanzo wants Jesse to come with him on his own terms, or not at all.

 

Jesse kisses him for a long, long time before climbing out of the car.  Hanzo stands in the open door, clouds rolling in from the west and thunder rumbling as Jesse climbs the ramp into the transport.  He blows Hanzo a kiss with a wink, but there’s none of that levity in his eyes, and Hanzo can’t even smile.

 

Back in Hanamura there is still blood on the ground.  

 

-

 

Genji stays by Hanzo’s side and helps him clean up the mess he’s made.  

 

He’s teaching himself ASL when he thinks Hanzo isn’t looking, watching videos on the internet, paging through a book Hanzo has never seen before.  Hanzo doesn’t know how to process that, so he ignores it. It isn’t hard, not right then.

 

Tension runs high in the clan, and Hanzo has his hands full.  Jesse’s messages are erratic at best, several coming through all at once sometimes followed by hours upon hours of nothing.  He goes silent for a solid two days at one point, and Hanzo is ready to load up and head for Spain when Jesse finally calls him.  

 

_ Sorry baby, shit’s gone crazy here. _

 

Hanzo is going crazy, too.

 

Blackwatch is in lockdown, Reyes and Jesse’s squad working themselves ragged trying to figure out if O’Deorain has left any people behind.  It’s a goose chase, and if there is a mole in their ranks, they are doing an excellent job of laying low. All of Blackwatch’s slated missions have been put on hold, and Overwatch isn’t equipped to pick up their slack in any useful capacity.  They can do the job, but they can’t do it right.

 

Talon is running wild.  There are other organizations using Blackwatch’s apparent absence to their advantage, as well, and the news is awash with fallout.  Too much is happening for Hanzo to keep track of it all. He checks his phone religiously, does what he can to prepare for when Jesse gives him the word.  Moving money around, briefing his men, quietly paving the way for his successor. His cousin is next in line to lead the clan, and there is no one left alive who would stand in his way.  Hanzo and Genji need to be ready to drop everything and flee at a moment’s notice.

 

To cast off the legacy their father spent his whole life working towards.  To abandon generations of tradition like they were nothing, and Hanzo should feel something other than relief.

 

Like he’s holding his breath, and waiting to let it out.

 

Like he’s been bound all these years, and is finally breaking free.

 

Except all that freedom will be meaningless without Jesse there.  Hanzo is a fool, but it is too late now.

 

Jesse owns him like no one has ever owned him, not even the clan.  Hanzo isn’t ashamed.

 

He’s terrified.

The days tick by and nothing,  _ nothing  _ in Blackwatch is resolved.  Jesse alternates between frenetic worry and utter despondency.  Their calls are short but vital— just enough to keep Hanzo from losing his mind.  This time Jesse sounds more tired than ever, voice rough and soft and broken. Hanzo has a hand over his face, curled into himself, Jesse’s voice a port in a storm.

 

All he has to hold onto when there is nothing around him but chaos.

 

“Things ain’t going like I need them to.  He won’t fuckin’ listen.”

 

Reyes doesn’t seem like the listening type, but Hanzo doesn’t say that.  

 

Hanzo doesn’t say anything, because there is too much noise on the other end of the line, suddenly.  Some kind of alarm blares, and there are people shouting, and the loud stomping of feet. Someone is yelling for Jesse, and he makes a noise in his throat.

 

“Baby, I… I gotta go, okay?  I’ll call you back.”

 

“Jesse, wait-”

 

“Love you, Hanzo,” and then he’s gone.

 

Hanzo looks at his phone, forlorn.  The call has disconnected, and he stares at Jesse’s picture, anxiety roaring in his chest.  He feels like the ground has been pulled out from under him.

 

As though he’s falling from some vast height, nothing to do but break when he lands.

 

When his phone rings again he jumps, a purple skull lighting up the display.  His heart is still beating too fast, nausea building, but Hanzo answers it anyway.

 

Always answers it, when his contact calls.

 

He lifts the phone to his ear, and Hanzo doesn’t have a chance to say anything before they’re talking— voice robotic and low but lilting somehow.  Run through some kind of voice changer, a different one each time, always unrecognizable.

 

“We have a problem, chiquito.”

 

Hanzo has more than one.

 

“Tell me,” he says, because he doesn’t have the luxury of panic.

 

He needs to get his shit together, and keep everything from falling apart.

 

Just once more.

 

_ Jesse, please. _


	8. Scratch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags

Hanging up feels final in a way that has Jesse unsteady.  Hanzo’s voice is stuck on a loop in his mind—  _ Jesse, wait—  _ begging in that wordless tone that he’s only recently learned to recognize _.   _ When Hanzo wants to say something, but can’t find the words.  

 

Can’t get them out of his mouth, and Jesse knows if he could get his hands on Hanzo they would be so much easier to coax free.

 

All Jesse can do now is pull the memory close and tuck it away. 

 

Take a breath, let it out.

 

Hope it won’t be the last time he hears Hanzo say his name.

 

Athena sounds out through the speakers above him,  _ Obsidian protocols initiated, all agents proceed to incursion positions, authorization R, three, four, P, three, R.   _ Lights strobe overheard, a discordant bell ringing in between Athena’s announcements; Jesse’s left eye aches, something eager he’s never quite tamed coiling in his chest.  His trigger finger twitches, and his vision is hazed in the faintest red.

 

He’s only ever heard these alarms ring in simulations.

 

When they were doing invasion drills, preparing for the theoretical eventuality of an assault on a Blackwatch facility.  Something they went over a few times for posterity and never expected to use, but now the intruder sirens are blaring, and Jesse is moving on autopilot, muscle memory carrying him through.  He has his body armor on in less than a minute, Peacekeeper in its holster, his last biotic shot shoved in a pocket on his Kevlar. No flashbangs, not in his room, but there will be plenty of ammo in the lockup at his incursion point.  Jesse puts on his hat, steps toward the door, and then hesitates.

 

_ Jesse, wait. _

 

He tugs open his drawer and pockets Hanzo’s ribbon— superstitious, maybe, but it’s already saved him once and Jesse likes having it there.  A little piece of Hanzo.

 

Something he can touch.

 

He runs out the door and straight into Reyes, who is kitted out head to toe in his gear with a shotgun resting on one shoulder.  Jesse’s reflexes keep him on his feet, but Reyes reaches out to steady him anyway, grabbing Jesse’s bicep and squeezing.

 

“Headed to med-sec, team should be there soon.  We got a sit-rep?” Jesse asks, and Gabriel shakes his head fiercely, pulling Jesse forward as they move together.  They jog down the hall, eyes up and alert, Jesse’s fingers lingering on the hilt of his weapon.

 

“Talon’s inbound but it’s bullshit.  It’s a smokescreen. We got some intel just before they showed up on our radar.  They’re running operations all over the place over the next twelve hours or so, trying to see if they can overwhelm us with numbers and slide a few pieces where they need them, I’d guess.  Hitting us at our bases is just a distractionary tactic. Contact says they’re moving on Lijiang, Rome, Salvador… handful of other locations. We’re rolling out teams to keep an eye assets we can’t afford to lose, got your guys slotted to go wheels up for Istanbul in twenty.”

 

Jesse nods, frowning; he doesn’t like the idea of leaving behind a firefight on their own turf, but if Reyes thinks they have it handled Jesse’s not going to argue.  Once upon a time he would have, but Jesse’s learned better, now, learned to follow where Gabe leads. 

 

“Which transport are we on?  You got Alessi flying us out?”

 

Reyes just shakes his head, glancing over his shoulder as they round a corner before shoving Jesse against a wall.  He lays his palm flat against Jesse’s chest and keeps it there, holds him in place, and Jesse stills, and waits. There’s an intensity in Gabriel’s expression that Jesse’s never seen outside of a mission, and the red in his vision surges higher, brighter.

 

Like there’s some threat he’s missing, some danger lurking unseen nearby.

 

“You’re not going with them,” Gabe says, and Jesse’s head pulls back like he’s been slapped, brows furrowed and lip drawn up in a snarl.

 

“The FUCK I’m not,” he spits, and Reyes pins Jesse in place with his stare.

 

The same way he has for years and years, and it’s only gotten more effective as time drags on; that look means Jesse’s fucked up, or he’s about to fuck up, and Gabriel is doing his best to keep him alive.

 

“Talon’s moving on Hanamura, too.  Something about a coup they’re handling on behalf of the Shimada clan.  Some of your boy’s family aren’t too fond of him, and they’re taking matters into their own hands.  Had him clean up their opposition for them, and now that he’s done the dirty work, they’re sending Talon in to finish the job.”

 

There is a heavy beat of silence, and fury rolls through Jesse like a storm.  Everything is awash in red, and Jesse blinks it back, and clenches his fist.

 

“Which team is on deck for Japan?  Reyes, you can’t tell me this shit and expect-”

 

Reyes cuts him off with another shake of his head; short, and sharp.  One Jesse has seen him give with his fingers on the pulse point of a soldier who’s gone too still underneath him; a grim declaration.

 

A death sentence.

 

“Overwatch doesn’t give a fuck if Talon takes out a couple dozen yakuza.  It’s none of their business. One crime lord is as good as the next in their eyes, and they’re not going to throw resources at it for no damn reason.  Just let the trash take itself out, no harm, no foul.”

 

Jesse breathes in heat, and breathes out fire.  His palm is closed around Peacekeeper’s hilt so tight it hurts, even though his enemies are nowhere in sight.  

 

Hanzo has never felt further away than he does right now, slipping through Jesse’s fingers; betrayed by his family, mercenaries creeping in, and Jesse is helpless on the other side of the world.

 

_ “Gabriel.” _

 

Jesse can’t find the right words.  Feels like he’s choking, and there’s a vicious desperation swimming in his veins.  He will do anything to protect Hanzo; say anything, be anything.

 

Doesn’t know how.  Jesse is dizzy, red lights stuttering over a nearby doorway, Athena’s voice lilting in the background.  Every second that passes is another moment that Hanzo is in danger, alone and out of reach.

 

Gabriel can see it in his face.

 

That Jesse is a thousand miles away already, even standing right in front of him.  His eyes go bright, and he sighs; lifts his hand from Jesse’s heart and curls it around the back of his neck.

 

“You’re going anyway, right?  Been ready to bolt for months now.  Kept expecting to find your room empty, but you’re still here.  You’re going, so  _ go.   _ Got a transport and a rookie med-pilot waiting on the flight deck.”

 

The relief threatens to take Jesse’s legs out from under him, and he closes his fingers over Gabriel’s wrist, and lets out a shaky breath.  Holds on a little tighter than he should.

 

Has to if he wants to stay on his feet.

 

Gabriel has been good for that; keeping Jesse upright.

 

“I’m-”

 

Jesse starts to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but it’s not entirely true.  He doesn’t like leaving Gabriel this way— tangled up in things Jesse doesn’t know how to unravel, Blackwatch falling to pieces around him—  but he doesn’t regret the way things have played out. Finding Hanzo.

 

Falling in love.

 

Gabriel pulled him out of hell, but Jesse has done everything he can, and it will never be enough to fix everything that has broken.  In Overwatch, in Blackwatch. 

 

In Gabriel himself.

 

“Thank you,” he says instead, and it’s far from enough, but it’s all he has to offer.  Gabriel nods, dropping his hand down to Jesse’s shoulder; squeezes once, hard, and then lets it fall away.

 

“Go find your team.  Wish them luck in Istanbul, and get the fuck out of here.  There’s briefing on a tablet in your transport, or as much of one as I can give you.  If you don’t get clear of our airspace before the shit hits the fan that medic I found to fly you is gonna get spooked.”  There is a moment where they both stand frozen, Gabriel searching his face.

 

Like he’s looking for something he knows he’s never going to find there.  

 

“Don’t get yourself killed over this pretty boy gangster, all right?”

 

Jesse laughs, but it’s forced and brittle and tastes sour on his tongue.

 

“No promises, boss.”  

 

Gabriel’s eyes go soft, shoulder dropping, shotgun hanging limp at his side.

 

“There never are.”

 

Then he is gone, boots clicking down the hall.

 

Jesse wants to follow— it’s automatic now, trailing after Reyes, but Jesse’s destination is on the other side of the base and there is no time to waste.

 

Jesse turns, and goes.

 

-

 

V tells him to watch his six since she won’t be there to do it for him.  Josiah tucks a grenade into his pocket with a wink,  _ sometimes you need to make an entrance.  Or an exit. Or just a really big hole.  _ Sera grins, and asks him to keep Genji out of trouble, and then they’re gone, too.  The three of them aren’t sticking around after this operation; they’ve talked things out with Jesse, made plans.  This won’t be the last he sees of them.

 

Not if he can get out of Hanamura in one piece.

 

When Jesse climbs into the cockpit of the med transport, he can’t help but laugh.

 

“Reyes said he was sending me off with a rookie.”

 

Angela lifts her chin imperiously, dressed in Overwatch blues; haughty and regal, but she’s grinning.

 

“Just because I can only fly med-evac units doesn’t mean I’m bad at it.”

 

Jesse snorts as she runs through the most cursory pre-flight check he’s ever seen before taking off.  They glide out of the flight bay and down the runway, and then they’re climbing, the base a flurry of activity beneath them.  Angela’s knuckles are white around the steering controls, jaw clenched and eyes darting back and forth over the digital gauges.

 

“You’re terrible at this ain’t you?”  

 

The transport lurches to the left as if on cue before she corrects course, sniffing and sitting up straighter.

 

“I am the best you have.”

 

Jesse reaches out and squeezes her forearm, holding tight for a moment before letting go.

 

“Thank you, Angie.”

 

She gives him a nod, and doesn’t ask any questions; Angela has always been good at her job, and this is no exception.  Doctors are good at trying to fix other people’s fuckups with incomplete information. She takes them high enough to avoid any undue scrutiny from the ground, and they settle in for the duration.

 

A half hour in, and Jesse is getting twitchy.

 

Hanzo isn’t answering his phone.

 

The tablet in the transport that would normally have all his mission details is troublingly sparse.  A map of Hanamura with a rough layout for Shimada castle, and a partial transcript of a phone call. Reyes’ contact, whoever that is, and Jesse can’t make sense of it all but one thing is clear.

 

Hanzo’s family had manipulated him into getting rid of the handful of elders who opposed an alliance with Talon.  

 

Now all they have to do is step back and let Talon finish things for them— let them kill Hanzo, and Genji, and their men, and have one of their own take over as head of the clan.  There is no timeline; no details, no real intel.

 

Just  _ ‘tell your cowboy to saddle up,’  _ and the entry cuts off abruptly.

 

Now Hanzo’s phone goes straight to voicemail.  All Jesse’s texts sit unread. Genji’s number yields more of the same, and the transport they’re in is lightning fast, but Jesse wonders if it will be enough.  He slips his hand into his pocket and rubs the silk of Hanzo’s ribbon between his fingers. Stained with Jesse’s blood, wearing thin from his affection.

 

Just like Hanzo himself.  

 

The world is a blur underneath them, and they’re flying headfirst into darkness, daylight bleeding into night.

 

Jesse paws at his eye like it will do something for the ache, and watches stars erupt in the sky.

 

-

 

Overwatch has all the right permits to fly almost anywhere they please, and it isn’t hard for Angela to read off codes at air traffic control when prompted and push straight through.  She sets them down at the hospital a few miles away from Shimada castle, and nobody looks twice at them— a paramilitary med-evac unit at a hospital is hardly out of place.

 

Jesse sends a wordless thanks to Reyes for making his life easier, and gets himself squared away.  Checks his weapon, checks his armor, checks his gear. It’s automatic, something he does without thinking, but it matters now more than ever.

 

This is all he has; there is no backup coming, no evac waiting, no team behind him.  Jesse has a pouch full of ammo, a half-dozen flashbangs, some questionable biotics and one assault grenade.  A combat knife, a blackjack, a garrote; any other job and Jesse would have refused to roll out.

 

This time it will have to be enough.

 

It’s a fight to keep Angela in the transport, even though Reyes’ orders specify she get the hell out of Dodge as soon as she drops Jesse off.  Sending him in alone goes against all her training, and he understands how she feels, but this isn’t a mission anymore.

 

This is Jesse doing something incredibly stupid, all on his own.

 

Hanzo would do the same for him. 

 

Has done the same, and then some, and Jesse would face worse odds if it meant keeping him safe.  

 

He leaves Angela behind with a tip of his hat and slips into the shadows of Hanamura.  It’s a simple thing to climb on an unattended motorcycle and get it started— Jesse has been hotwiring vehicles since long before Blackwatch taught him how all over again, and this one is sleek, and quiet, and  _ fast.   _ Just what he needs, and Jesse leans into his turns, rides the gas hard, and lets it carry him forward.

 

Hanzo’s hometown is beautiful, or it would be, under any other circumstances.

 

The closer he gets to Shimada castle, the more apparent it becomes that something is wrong.

 

The streets are eerily deserted, signs blaring in a dozen shades of bright neon above storefronts but without a soul in sight.  Traffic lights cycle uselessly, no cars on the road, no pedestrians dashing across the crosswalks. It’s a ghost town, and Jesse ditches his stolen bike a quarter mile outside the castle gates, slinking through alleys until they come into view.  They’re impossible to miss, even if he’s only seen them in photographs; dramatic, and imposing.

 

Jesse expects nothing less, but his stomach drops at the sight that greets him, teeth protesting as he grinds them in his jaw.

 

There are half a dozen Talon agents clustered at the entrance, guns slack in their hands, chattering quietly to one another.  They’re alert, but not alert enough, and Jesse wishes he had time to do this right. Find a way around, sneak inside, take these guys out quick and easy.  Lure them away from their post a few at a time; strangle them with his garrote in the alley, or slit their throats with no one the wiser.

 

But there are gunshots rattling in the distance; bells ringing, voices shouting in muted Japanese.  

There are bloodstains on sidewalk, arrows in the wood of the gate; shell casings scattered on the ground, and there is no time to waste.

 

Nothing for Jesse to do but draw.

 

The whole world slows down around him, all of it hazed in vicious red.  Jesse can feel the sun on his face even in the dark. Ethereal light plays out in front of him— his eye aches, and everything is muffled, a thousand miles away.

 

Nothing is ever so perfect as it is in these moments, lost in between will and violence, where Jesse is the only person truly alive.  The beat of his heart, the air in his lungs, Peacekeeper’s hilt against his palm; the bullets in his gun, and the trigger under his finger.

 

Jesse, and his justice, and Hanzo…

 

Hanzo is close.

 

There is a raucous series of shots that split the night; Peacekeeper bucks in his hand, shuddering like all Jesse’s best lovers, and every last man at the gate drops to the ground.  His eye throbs, and his teeth feel sharp. Something in him that is always hungry sighs, and eases, if only for a moment. 

 

He feeds it, and feeds it, and it never gets its fill.  Jesse has learned to live with it, that edge of starvation buried deep in his bones that surges up at the smell of gunsmoke and asks for more.

 

Always more, and tonight Jesse thinks it will get what it wants.

 

He reloads Peacekeeper and slips up to the gate to peer inside; there are more guards headed his way.  Three or four at least, Jesse can’t be sure. He could pick them off one by one, but it will put him at risk; will put Hanzo at risk.  Every moment is an eternity with the sounds of slaughter in the air, and Jesse raises his gun, and forces the world to go red. 

 

It’s too soon.  Peacekeeper shivers in his grip, and his eye pulses with agony— like he’s taking a knife to it, but the light comes to his call, and his enemies hit the ground.  His mouth tastes like metal, and blood trickles from one side of his nose, and drips down over his lips. It doesn’t matter.

 

Behind enemy lines, playing a perilous game, and Jesse has been lost a long time now.

 

Nothing matters but Hanzo, Jesse stuck in his orbit, and there is nowhere else he wants to be.  

 

Jesse reloads, wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, and keeps moving.

 

-

 

He runs across several more Talon teams as he pushes forward— regular agents, a pair of enforcers, a sniper with laser sight that stays locked on Jesse even as he ducks and rolls.  None of them are fast enough. Sometimes the numbers are overwhelming; Jesse forces time itself to yield to him again and again, but it doesn’t come without a price.

 

He staggers with each step he takes, now, left palm flat over his heart, feeling the beats slow and flutter.  His right eye bleeds like an open wound, nose pouring crimson, even more blood dripping from his mouth and oozing from his ears.  There’s a high pitched ringing sound that never fades, and when he turns his head too fast it sharpens until he can barely stay upright under the din.  Everything pounds with his heartbeat, the ground pitching under his feet, like he is on a boat on unfriendly seas. 

 

Peacekeeper hangs at his side, and all Jesse can do is hope he doesn’t come across any more enemies.  If he forces things again he’ll probably pass out but in this condition, without the Deadeye to pick up his slack, his aim is mostly shot.  Still he keeps going, stumbling over his feet, shoulder bumping into the wall as he moves through a doorway.

 

The temple is quiet, if devastated.  Jesse has never been in one like this before, but he’s fairly certain it’s not supposed to be quite so macabre.  The wood floors are streaked with gore, and bodies that don’t belong to Jesse’s gun are strewn here and there; a handful of Talon agents, someone in a gi.  Jesse’s heart is in his throat for a moment, but when he gets closer it calms again. The hair is too short, too light, even through the haze of Jesse’s vision; one of Hanzo’s men, then.  Not Genji, not Hanzo, and Jesse hates the relief that washes over him but doesn’t have to time to dwell. 

 

The noise of battle has gone silent now, and he is still well away from the castle proper, which is where most of the commotion seems to have been centered.  There is a rear exit here somewhere, surely, and Jesse needs to find it.

 

Needs to find Hanzo, and fast.

 

He is dragging himself towards the steps on one side of the altar when dark laughter breaks through the quiet.  Jesse reels, trying to follow the sound, but the temple roils around him and it’s hard to focus. Nausea rises in his guts, and Jesse has to swallow to keep from heaving, listing to the side as his eyes rove around the room.  Light catches his attention, high up on the temple walls— a figure there, clinging to the wood, but then they blur and vanish. He feels drunk and disoriented as he turns in a circle, laughter echoing again, manic and unhinged.  

 

Foreboding fills him up like smoke, and Jesse thinks of New Mexico, thinks of Marseille, thinks of Shaghai.  

 

Death slipping into his space again, reaching out to touch, but Jesse has already fought so hard, and he doesn’t know how much more he has in him.

 

When he finds the figure again they’re on the opposite wall, two long red blades glinting on their forearms.  Jesse has seen a lot of Talon soldiers, but never one like this. He doesn’t know what they’re capable of, or how to counter them, but he’s found bullets are an all-purpose solution; Jesse raises his arm and aims, closing his left eye entirely, gun shifting wildly as he struggles to get his bearings.  One more time.

 

_ Jesse, wait. _

 

He fires, but the figure is gone before the shot lands, shimmering out of existence.  The kick of his weapon isn’t usually enough to affect him, but right now it damn near has Peacekeeper jerking out of his hand.  Jesse tightens his grip, turning again, dizzy as he searches for the threat.

 

The laughter sounds out, close enough to send a chill down his spine, and when Jesse blinks away his double vision he sees them— running towards him on the ground, blades dragging across the floor of the temple.  They’re cutting furrows in the wood, too close for him to hit with any kind of accuracy right then— not when he’s barely standing, feet sliding underneath him as the temple spins like a top. Jesse fumbles out a flashbang, but his fingers are clumsy, and it falls out of his hand just as he shoved to the ground.

 

It feels like he’s been hit by a truck, and he lands on his back, wind knocked out of him in a rush.  

 

Jesse thinks of Sera, thinks of Josie, thinks of V.  Thinks of how much he’s come to rely on them; how helpless he really is, all alone and pushed well past his limits, bright red knives falling on him like hammers.  

 

When he lifts his left arm instinctively to block the first strike the blade doesn’t even hurt.  Doesn’t catch, doesn’t drag.

 

Just cuts straight through flesh and bone to sink into the wood next to his head.  He watches with forlorn detachment as his forearm falls, thudding and rolling a few feet away from him; fingers twitching, ragged end gushing blood, and realization comes with sudden clarity.

 

Jesse is going to die here.  So close to reaching Hanzo that it aches inside, Peacekeeper bloody in his hand and eye stuttering with impotent scarlet light.  A strange sort of calm settles over him, cold and unforgiving. Everything is moving in slow motion, and Jesse isn’t sure if it’s his Deadeye trying in vain to help him, or if this is just what it’s like when the world ends.

 

Slow and agonizing, so he can think on all the mistakes he’s made that have led him here.

 

The figure crouched over him raises their other blade, and Jesse can’t even get his weapon up, can’t lift the arm he has left off the ground.   _ Sorry, Hanzo,  _ he thinks, and lets his eyes fall closed.

 

Then there is something unfamiliar roaring in his veins, twisting through his skin, and Jesse looks up to find Hanzo standing in the doorway of the temple.

 

He face is splashed with red, gi falling down off one shoulder, bow drawn back until the string is pressed tight against his cheek.  His eyes glow a furious blue, tattoo shimmering with unearthly light, and Jesse has never seen him so beautiful.

 

Alive with vengeance, all of it for Jesse.

 

Hanzo’s is yelling, something snarled and incomprehensible, but what he’s saying isn’t important.

 

The arrow he looses is pulling something with it; something huge, and on fire, vivid blue energy swirling in the air.  Closer, closer, and only when they surround Jesse does he realize what they are; when they whisper to him, soft and fond and adoring.

 

_ Worry not.  We have you. _

 

Dragons.

 

Hanzo has dragons, and they wrap Jesse up in warmth, and burn away his enemy until they are nothing but ash that falls on him like rain.  They burn away Jesse’s arm, too, but Jesse can’t be upset.

 

It’s impossible.  There are ancient spirits cradling him, holding him tight, nuzzling and purring against his skin.  He tries to say something, anything, but Jesse’s eyes are heavy and everything is getting farther and farther away.  There’s more movement behind Hanzo in the courtyard; smears of red and white, and he doesn’t know for sure, but Jesse thinks it’s Talon.  Reinforcements coming. Someone is darting around them in a blur of black and green. Muzzle flashes, and the clink of steel, and someone with wings.

 

Genji.  Angela.

 

_ I told you to go,  _ he tries to say, but nothing comes out of his mouth.

 

Hanzo is there, pulling Jesse into his lap, eyes lit up blue and hands shaking.

 

_ “Jesse,”  _ he says, grabbing at Jesse’s face, brushing the hair out of his eyes.  “Jesse, stay with me.”

 

Jesse has never wanted anything more, but he’s cold, and he’s tired, and Hanzo feels so good curled around him.  He turns his face into Hanzo’s palm, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision, shivers wracking through him until all he can do is shake.

 

“Love you,” he slurs, lips numb, and then the whole world goes black.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Complex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't leave you hanging that long.

Jesse dies in Hanzo’s arms.  

 

Hanzo feels his heart stop beating, watches the strobing red of his eye blink out; something roars all around him, loud and beastly and animal.  The sound rattles the temple, rattles Hanzo’s bones, and it takes a moment before he realizes it’s him, screaming. A dragon’s voice pours out of his throat, teeth long and sharp, eyes so bright they hurt.  

 

Like he’s blinding himself from the inside out, unable to contain the force of his grief.  Jesse’s voice curls through his head, soft and fond and adoring.

 

_ Love you, Hanzo. _

 

He never said it back.

 

Hanzo loves him and Jesse’s gone; now the words taste like metal, unspoken in his mouth.

 

Jesse dies, and Hanzo’s shouting cuts off into a sob as he pulls Jesse further into his lap, hands trembling.

 

“No, no no no, Jesse,  _ please.   _ Don’t do this, don’t… you  _ can’t,  _ you  _ promised,  _ just wait, just-”

 

Hanzo turns Jesse’s face towards him, cradling his head, but it lolls slack and lifeless.  Blue energy swirls through the temple, Hanzo’s dragons howling mournfully in his ears, and he wants to howl with them.

 

Hanzo is in pieces.  Jesse is gone. 

 

Hanzo keens.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a figure dressed in blue and white flit to Jesse’s side.  They float straight through the fog of his dragons, which isn’t surprising. No one but Hanzo or Genji can see them when they are like this, summoned but not wreaking havoc, refusing to return to Hanzo’s skin where they belong.  When he glances over he sees the medic who was fighting alongside Genji in the courtyard; she’s wearing some kind of mobility device in the shape of wings, and Hanzo bares his teeth at her, but his voice comes out ragged and broken.

 

“It’s too late.  It’s too late, he’s-”

 

_ -dead,  _ but Hanzo can’t say it, can’t make his tongue work around the sound.

 

Then the medic crouches next to Jesse and slaps Hanzo’s hand away, laying her gloved palm flat on his chest, something imbedded in her wrist glowing gold.  Her gaze burns with vicious determination, like the whole world has shrunk down around her, and only Jesse exists.

 

Hanzo knows what that’s like.

 

When there is nothing but Jesse to fill his world.

 

There is a noise, like a knife punching through Jesse’s armor, through his skin and muscle and bone.  He jerks as though he’s been electrified, but Hanzo knows it’s nothing so mundane, not with the way his dragons are working themselves into a frenzy.

 

Jesse sucks in a breath, heart stuttering erratically to life under the medics hands, weak but unmistakable.  

 

Everything stops, and tilts, Hanzo’s universe shuddering back into something less wrong, something less unbearable.

 

Jesse is alive.

 

Hanzo’s dragons coil around Jesse protectively, purring out a noise that no one else can hear, writhing over him in tight circles.  When the medic lifts her palm from Jesse’s chest Hanzo grabs her wrist, wide eyed with shock as Jesse’s lashes flutter; he’s not awake, but he is  _ alive.   _ Warm, and breathing, and Hanzo meets the medics gaze.  Opens his mouth to speak, and makes a high, helpless sound in the back of his throat instead.  He wants to thank her, to ask  _ how,  _ to give her anything she could possibly want— money, favors, power.

 

His entire fucking empire, were she to ask— his kingdom, however broken, all for Jesse.

 

The medic is having none of it.

 

She holsters the pistol she’s carrying in her left hand and reaches behind her, drawing the staff that’s resting across her back as though it were a blade and pointing one end at Jesse.  Gold light erupts from it, latching onto him— lightning stretched between them, bathing Jesse in the bright glow of biotic energy. 

 

“This isn’t going to hold for long.  He’s lost too much blood, and overused his ability.  I need two of your men to carry him back to the ambulance I have outside the gates so I can get him to the hospital,” she snaps.  Hanzo stares, frozen and overwhelmed, and she narrows her eyes and continues, voice strained with thinly veiled urgency. “If you want him to live I suggest you move, now.  I can’t bring him back again.”

 

Hanzo stumbles to his feet, and runs.  It has been a long few hours, and he’s lost some of his men, but there are still enough.  In less than a minute Kou and one of his crew are loading Jesse onto a broken shoji panel they’re using as a makeshift stretcher, Hanzo clinging to his bloody fingers, the medic looking on with blatant impatience.  

 

Genji calls for him in the distance, somewhere behind the temple— needs his help with whatever remnants of Talon are left inside their gates.

 

Not many, thanks to Jesse.  Hanzo had seen all the men lying dead in his wake; two dozen of them at least, all gunning for Hanzo and Genji.  If not for Jesse he would be dead, and Hanzo squeezes his hand, feels Jesse’s heartbeat just under his skin.

 

“Where are you taking him?”

 

It feels wrong to let Jesse go without him, but Genji and the members of the clan who stood by his side are depending on him, and he can’t let them down.  Not now.

 

Not when they almost lost everything.

 

“Your local hospital until I can get him stabilized, and then I’ll transfer him to a Watchpoint as soon as possible.  Italy, probably, depending on how things are going back in Europe. I don’t have time to waste talking about it. We need to go now.”

 

Hanzo lifts Jesse’s hand to his mouth, and presses a kiss to his bloody knuckles— the only ones Jesse has left.

 

Hanzo can’t touch anyone without leaving a stain, and that it goes both ways this time is merely coincidence.

 

“I’ll find him,” he says, and eases Jesse’s hand back down.

 

Watches him go, and picks up his bow, and gets to work.

 

-

 

The bodies burn easily under the sway of dragons, flesh and bone sizzling away into nothing.  Hanzo and Genji and Kou watch with their eyes alight, green and blue and violet swirling together, what’s left of their men gathered around in silence.  They fought off another wave of Talon before everything was said and done, but now the castle is quiet, with most of the elders nowhere to be seen. Those who do return are older, or naive— confused, unsure of what has been happening, left deliberately out of the loop by the rest.

 

Hanzo’s contact had given him just enough information for him to piece together a clear picture— his family, desperate for power and profit, only too eager to turn to Talon for help.   

 

Desperate to pit his family against Genji, just to incite Hanzo to action in his defense.

 

Then they slipped away, and left Hanzo and Genji to the wolves.

 

Now Hanzo watches his enemies turn to ash, watches them blow away like smoke, but there is little satisfaction to be had from it.  He needs to get things stabilized here, needs to make sure Genji and Kou will be safe. 

 

Then he needs to go where his dragons are desperately trying to lead him.

 

-

 

Jesse is beautiful when he sleeps.

 

It isn’t some revelation.  Hanzo has known for a long, long time, but he’d lost it for the briefest of moments, and he’ll never tire of watching, now.  Watching Jesse breathe, chest rising and falling slowly, hair tangled around his face; pink-cheeked, snoring softly. He’s tucked under hospital sheets, machines beeping incessantly in the background, doctors and nurses clicking back and forth down the hall.  They’ve come to check on Jesse twice since Hanzo arrived, but they don’t seem to be troubled by his presence at Jesse’s bedside. They glance at his Blackwatch hoodie and sweats, his necklace bearing a pair of dog-tags, and then go about their business as if he isn’t there.  

 

He might as well not be, for all the good it’s doing Jesse.

 

Jesse is lost in a fog of morphine and sedatives, left arm freshly wrapped from surgery he’d only emerged from minutes before Hanzo’s arrival.  He comes to now and them, heavy lidded and slurring— asking Hanzo for kisses, telling him he’s pretty.

 

_ You’re a sight for sore eyes, darlin’, come here and let me hold you. _

 

Hanzo is weak, and so he does.

 

It’s nothing that Jesse will remember later, which is both a blessing and a curse; Hanzo doesn’t have a lot of time to linger before it becomes dangerous for him.  His credentials got him this far, but he doesn’t know how long they’ll hold under scrutiny now that Blackwatch is collapsing in on itself. He had to come see for himself, had to lay eyes on Jesse, but Hanzo cannot stay.  He indulges Jesse in sleep-warm kisses when he wakes, and holds his hand when he drifts off again; Hanzo will take everything he can get.

 

Stolen moments, eked out of chaos.  Hanzo has been living for them for ages now.

 

Has been living for Jesse for ages, now.

 

So he sits at Jesse’s bedside in a miserable wooden chair, and watches him sleep, palm sweating against Jesse’s own, pilfered Blackwatch hoodie swallowing him whole.  It soothes him, having Jesse close; he doesn’t have to wonder why anymore, doesn’t ask himself stupid questions. Jessie pried the answers out of him without trying.

 

No one told Hanzo being in love would hurt like this; sharp, and tight, and endless.

 

When someone breaks the silence he startles, like he’s been caught doing wrong.  He has, but he hasn’t.

 

Hanzo refuses to feel ashamed.

 

“Got some balls coming here after everything that’s happened.  I could have you arrested.”

 

Reyes stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest.  Hanzo doesn’t look away from Jesse; just rubs his thumb back and forth over Jesse’s knuckles, voice laden with bored disinterest.

 

“You could certainly  _ try,”  _ he says, and Reyes sucks air through his teeth, and steps further into the room.  He isn’t looking at Hanzo, either.

 

Both of them keep their eyes on Jesse; as though he is doing more than simply laying there, breathing slow and lost in his dreams.  It isn’t Reyes’ fault.

 

Jesse makes it hard to look away.

 

“What the fuck are you doing, Shimada?  He’ll be out of here in a few weeks at most, running off after you.  Best get your ass out of here before they flag your ID and set off the intruder alarms.”

 

Hanzo wishes he could believe that as easily as Reyes does.  That Jesse will wake up, and recover, and slip away to Hanamura to find him.

 

But wanting Hanzo alive and wanting to stay with him are two very different things.  Jesse would have to leave Blackwatch, leave his team. Leave his whole life behind, and for what?  For Hanzo? 

 

It doesn’t feel like enough.   _ He  _ doesn’t feel like enough.

 

“I had to see for myself.”  He can see Reyes tilt his head in agreement, like sneaking into an underground paramilitary facility to see Jesse is a logical thing to do, somehow.  There’s tension in the air that Hanzo isn’t sure how to disperse, so he nods down at his feet, at the sleek metal case on the floor there. “I also brought him something, if he wants it.  Your people will have to adjust it to fit him, but it’s far better than the kind of prosthesis  _ Overwatch  _ would provide him with.”

 

Reyes frowns, and gives Hanzo a look.

 

“You brought him an arm?” Reyes asks incredulously, and Hanzo finally glances over at him, and glares.

 

It’s Hanzo’s fault Jesse lost it in the first place.  It’s all he can think about, looking at the pristine bandages wrapped around Jesse’s forearm, the empty place where his hand should be, but isn’t.  Hanzo is good at that; taking from people.

 

He takes, and he takes, and he gives nothing back.

 

“You’ll make sure he gets it,” Hanzo says, and it isn’t a question, but he waits for an answer anyway.  

 

Reyes looks at Hanzo, looks at the case, looks at Jesse.  Back at Hanzo, something resigned in his expression, like he’s losing at a game Hanzo didn’t know they were playing.  Like he’d lost it before Hanzo got there, but isn’t ready to admit defeat.

 

“I’ll have to have my guys check it over first.  Make sure it’s above board.”

 

Hanzo nods again and turns back to Jesse, whose fingers are flexing in his grip, eyelashes fluttering open.  His eyes rove aimlessly around the room for a moment before settling on Hanzo and going bright and pleased.

 

“Oh sweetheart.  You… you came. You shouldn’ta done that.  ‘S dangerous, baby.”

 

It’s the third time he’s told Hanzo how dangerous it is for him to be here.  Hanzo feels Reyes’ eyes on him, feels the pull of the dog tags around his neck, feels the tear gas canisters and smoke bombs in his pockets.  

 

Feels Jesse’s hand in his, and his sleepy stare.  Listens to the sound of his breathing. 

 

Thinks about how much it will ache if this is the last time he hears it.

 

It is dangerous for Hanzo to be here, but not in the way Jesse thinks.  Still, he knows.

 

Hanzo knows.

 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.  Just rest.”

 

Jesse smiles, drugged and euphoric, tugging Hanzo’s hand up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.

 

“Love you,” he says, already falling asleep again, painkillers feeding steadily into his veins through his IV drip.

 

Hanzo can’t say it now.  Not when Jesse might not hear, might not remember.  Not with Reyes’ standing behind him, looming like a storm.  

 

Not when it feels like goodbye.

 

“I’ll be gone soon.  I’d like a few more minutes before you call in the dogs, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

Reyes sighs.  Hanzo listens to his footsteps retreat out of the room and fade away down the hall.

 

He stays as long as he dares, but it will never be enough, and he can’t get caught here unawares.  

 

“Come find me,” he whispers, raw and exposed.  It’s okay. 

 

Jesse can’t hear it, the vulnerability, how his voice shakes.

 

He buries his face in Jesse’s shoulder and breathes him in, lets Jesse’s warmth sink into his skin.  Kisses his hair, and squeezes his hand, and goes. Hanzo leaves the Watchpoint, and it’s like he was never there, a ghost haunting the halls.

 

Haunting Jesse, and Hanzo heads to Japan, and waits.

 

-

 

Hanamura is emptier than it has ever been.  Genji is gone, chasing after Serafin and the others.  They’ve gone to ground somewhere in eastern Europe, but he won’t have any trouble finding them.

 

He’s a Shimada, after all.

 

Kou is acting head of the clan, but only until Hanzo leaves.  There is too much blood staining the halls, soaked into the earth, smeared over the stones.  

 

Even washed away it is too much to live with for long.

 

It has been weeks.  Months. The place he’s always called home is feeling more and more like a prison with every passing day.

 

Somewhere he’s been forgotten.  Left behind. Maybe this is what he deserves.

 

Maybe there is too much blood on Hanzo, too.

 

He sits in the vacant banquet hall where they always hold clan meetings, sprawled on a pile of cushions, an empty jug of sake discarded on the floor next to him.  The evening sun shines through the windows, shadows stretching and shifting, light playing out over his face. Hanzo isn’t drunk, or not as drunk as he’d like to be, but his body is loose and drowsy in a way that should be pleasant, except it only feels exhausting.

 

_ How long are you going to wait? _

 

Kou asks him every day, but Hanzo doesn’t answer.  

 

_ As long as it takes,  _ he thinks, but that’s a lie.  They cannot stay here forever.

 

Hanzo needs to go.  

 

The sun is set when he startles awake.  Hours later, his body aching from sleeping on the floor, head pounding from too much drink.  There are candles burning now, flames flickering weakly in the dark.

 

Jesse looks beautiful lit up in them, watching Hanzo sleep.  

 

He’s laying next to Hanzo, propped up on one elbow, fingers tracing gently over Hanzo’s face.  Metal fingers, and even in the dimness Hanzo can pick out the sleek lines of his prosthesis, dragons etched delicately into the forearm.  

 

A piece of Hanzo to carry with him, always.

 

“Hey there, dollface.”

 

Hanzo lets out a rough breath, and turns into Jesse’s touch.

 

“You came,” he says, wondering if he’s dreaming.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

Hanzo’s dreams are cruel.

 

“Of course I did.  I missed you,” Jesse says, like it’s easy to admit, like it doesn’t cost him anything.  

 

It doesn’t; never has, never will.  Hanzo knows better, now.

 

“I missed you, too.”

 

Jesse smiles, and it’s wide and bright and breathtaking.  He runs his fingers through Hanzo’s hair, slow and careful, like he has all the time in the world.

 

“That offer of yours still stand?”

 

Hanzo nods.  Presses his lips to the metal of Jesse’s palm.

 

“If you go, I’ll go.”

 

Jesse brings their mouths together.  Kisses Hanzo breathless, and they go.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter. Tell me nice things <3


	10. Constant

It’s not always easy.

 

For a long while they are stretched taut, pressed from all sides until there’s no air to breathe, trying to slip through fingers that are desperate to take hold of them and never let go.  Talon, and the clan, and rival yakuza groups who are keen to profit off all the unrest. The military, Interpol. Overwatch itself. Every step they take away from one threat tangles them up in another, and eventually Kou leaves them behind.  It’s the smart thing to do, for him at least, and he doesn’t apologize for it. 

 

It doesn’t sting.  Not when Hanzo knows where he’s going, what he’s doing.

 

Who he’s looking for in the chaos they’ve helped create.  The road he has ahead of him is more difficult than Hanzo’s own.  

 

Genji is elusive when he wants to be, intangible like smoke.  Hanzo doesn’t envy Kou the chase but he doesn’t have time to worry about it, not right then.  All his energy is focused on keeping himself alive, and out of handcuffs. Jesse and Hanzo are both old hands at this; staying off the radar of law enforcement, being places they shouldn’t.  Stealth, and silence, and evasion.

 

The two of them have been getting away with murder for a long time, and it’s not always easy, but it is always familiar.  Even half-asleep and bruised and exhausted, muscle memory carries him through.

 

Muscle memory, and his dragons, and Jesse.

 

_ You ready, sweetheart? _

 

Hanzo is always ready, now.

 

Hanzo creeps through dark city streets with Jesse at his side— runs, and runs, and runs, until his lungs are on fire, and every breath feels like a fresh wound.  They press themselves flat against alley walls, Hanzo’s fingers to his lips,  _ quiet, quiet.   _ Palm splayed out over Jesse’s heart to hold him back, feeling it beat hard and fast under his hand, both of them moving on instinct and adrenaline.  They hide on rooftops, and hotwire cars. 

 

The ocean is calm and black and still, and it carries them away from Japan, and out into the world.

 

There are more hotels than Hanzo can count, ubiquitous and forgettable, but there are also derelict houses leaking rainwater in the corners; broken windows, floorboards giving way beneath their feet.  Jesse and Hanzo huddle together against the cold, breath fogging as they listen to the sky shake apart outside. Jesse’s arms curl around him, nose tucked into Hanzo’s throat,  _ it’s okay sweetheart, get some sleep. _

 

_ Rest easy,  _ and Hanzo shouldn’t, but he does.

 

There are parking garages and abandoned barns and campsites with icy outdoor showers that have Hanzo hissing as he washes blood out of his hair.  There are long walks through the baking desert, sweat pouring off him like rain, the heat a living thing on their skin. Weeks. Months.

 

Years.

 

Hanzo always has one hand on Jesse, and the other on his bow.  Watching, waiting; nowhere is safe for long, but it doesn’t matter.

 

Hanzo has never been safe.  

 

Now Jesse is with him— mouth on his jaw, fingers in his hair,  _ let’s go, darlin’, rise and shine. _

 

He’s tired, but Jesse’s waiting.

 

They rise and shine together.

 

-

 

These woods aren’t anything special to Hanzo, but Jesse relaxes in them as though he’s come home after a long time away.  They camp next to a river surrounded by oak trees for long enough that it starts to feel like somewhere Hanzo belongs. 

 

The stars are beautiful so far from the city, nothing to take away from their splendor, and Hanzo has all the time in the world to stare.  Jesse traces meaningless shapes in Hanzo’s palm as they look up at the night sky, humming a song Hanzo knows by heart now, even if he changes the words sometimes.

 

_ Wonder this time where he’s gone.  Wonder if he’s gone to stay.  _

 

Some nights it hurts to hear him sing it.  Hanzo thinks of all the miles that were once between them, until Jesse felt like he was worlds away.  Remembers how it felt to have Jesse under his hands again after months spent apart; the frantic relief of it.

 

He lifts Jesse’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles, never looking away from the stars.

 

“No one is chasing us anymore,” he says, and Jesse scratches at Hanzo’s beard with the back of his hand, and hums again.  “I like it here.”

 

Hanzo doesn’t like it any better than anywhere else they’ve been, but he likes the way Jesse unwinds there, sprawled out lazy under the Texas sky.

 

“Here likes you, too, darlin’,” Jesse replies, smiling, and so they stay.

 

-

 

Genji arrives apropos of nothing, like he hasn’t been missing for the better part of two years.  Shows up grinning on the dilapidated front porch of their old farmhouse, a handful of old Blackwatch agents and a surly ex-yakuza in tow, some of them decidedly less intact than when Jesse had left them last.  Josiah has a pair of sleek prosthetic legs that start below his knees. V is missing fingers on her left hand. Genji’s face is criss-crossed with scars, and Hanzo has a brief, useless moment of fury, who would do this,  _ how dare they... _

 

Then it passes, and Hanzo pulls Genji into his arms, and doesn’t let him go.

 

-

 

There is barely any light coming through the windows.  One of their dogs is barking; there is no telling which, at this point.  There are so many he’s stopped trying to keep track of them.

 

Hanzo wakes up moaning, fingers tangled in Jesse’s hair, bucking into the warm, wet heat of his mouth.  When he looks down Jesse is watching him, eyes bright, palm spread out on Hanzo’s stomach to keep him in place.  His lips are wet, cheeks hollowed as he sucks, tongue swirling against Hanzo’s shaft. He winks, and Hanzo huffs a laugh; tugs on the soft strands between his fingers and rocks his hips forward, wordlessly urging Jesse to continue.  Jesse doesn’t need convincing.

 

He’d do this all day if Hanzo let him.

 

He fucks Jesse’s mouth languidly, running a thumb over his bottom lip where it’s stretched around his cock.  He’s still sore from the night before, back aching, throat bruised from Jesse’s kisses. Jesse is always like this when they get the place to themselves for a few days.  Rough and hungry, like he doesn’t have Hanzo in his bed every night. 

 

Something vestigial, Hanzo thinks, leftover from the years they spent so far apart.

 

Some instinct that tells Jesse to take every bit of Hanzo, every chance he gets; Hanzo doesn’t mind.  

 

He comes into Jesse’s mouth without warning him, and Jesse groans, and swallows without complaint.

 

Like he is getting what he needs, instead of the other way around.

 

When Hanzo is shivering and oversensitive Jesse turns him over.  Presses his face into the pillows, and eases into him slow, murmuring quiet praises; like Hanzo is a skittish animal that needs soothing.  

 

He doesn’t need it, but he likes it all the same.  Jesse’s voice has him pliant, melting boneless into the sheets, until he has to get his good arm under Hanzo’s hips and lift him back into place.

 

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that.”

 

Hanzo reaches back to hold his hand. 

 

“Love you, Jesse, love you.” 

 

Recklessly.  Foolishly. 

 

Even after all this time, it still makes Jesse shake.

 

Jesse coaxes another orgasm out of him before finishing himself, coming slick and messy over the inside of Hanzo’s thighs.  They lay there together in filthy sheets, the room thick with the scent of sex and sweat, both of them trying to catch their breath.  Jesse smiles at him in the dim morning sunlight, and Hanzo runs his fingers over Jesse’s cheek, brushing his hair back from his face. 

 

“Make me breakfast,” he says, and Jesse’s smile goes crooked under Hanzo’s palm.

 

“Say please,” Jesse replies, and Hanzo rolls over onto his back, and lets his thighs fall wide.

 

“Please?”

 

Jesse’s eyes glint, and he lays down on top of Hanzo, and nuzzles into his jaw.

 

“Well, since you asked so nice.”

 

-

 

They’re on the porch swing watching it rain when a car turns up the driveway.  

 

Serafin and Genji are home, now; inside dozing on the couch just past the screen door, twisted up together under one of Jesse’s old serapes.  Genji’s roots are showing, dark black creeping under fading green dye; Sera strokes through it, slow and sleepy. 

 

V and Josiah are still in the city;  something about Josiah’s prosthetics, Hanzo isn’t sure what.  Kou has been gone for weeks, but no one is too worried. He always turns up eventually.

 

Hanzo sees Genji sit up when the dogs start barking in earnest, and Sera grumbles, and tries to pull him back down.  He dodges Sera’s hands and rolls to his feet, standing in the doorway with a drowsy frown.

 

“Who is it?” Genji asks, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand, Serafin’s pajamas pooling over his feet.  

 

Hanzo shrugs one shoulder, watching the vehicle wind its way towards the house, all tinted windows and sleek lines.  Genji yawns and reaches behind the door to grab his katana, scratching his fingers through his hair. Serafin finally pops up at that, pulling open a drawer on the coffee table but not reaching inside.  Hanzo knows there’s a shotgun in there; a sawed-off, along with a pair of pistols and a half-dozen of Sera’s knives. Stormbow is upstairs in the closet, but there is a compound bow tucked into the porch rafters overhead next to a dozen arrows.  

 

No one else reaches for a weapon yet.  

 

If all else fails Josiah has some charges buried in the yard.  The detonator is hidden in a fake key fob hanging by the door, but blowing them is a last resort;  mostly because Josiah will be mad that he didn’t get to see it.

 

‘We set off your explosives while you were gone’ is a conversation none of them want to have again.

 

The car parks directly over the charges, just like they always do, and Hanzo lets his head drop onto Jesse’s shoulder.  Jesse’s fingers sift through Hanzo’s hair automatically, and Hanzo sighs, eyes falling half-closed. 

 

Genji takes the detonator from beside the door, index finger slipping through the keyring and twirling it idly.  It’s probably for the best.

 

If anyone can get away with blowing up Josiah’s charges without catching hell for it, it’s Genji.

 

Everyone watches as the car door opens, curious but not concerned.  A moment later there is a figure flitting to the bottom of the porch steps in a blur of blue, smiling wide.

 

“Fancy meetin’ you here, Oxton,” Jesse says, and Lena winks.

 

“Fancy bein’ here.  You’re a hard bunch to track down.”

 

Serafin is outside in an instant, picking Lena up off her feet and swinging her around in wide circles as Genji watches them with a smirk.

 

“Not that I ain’t happy to see you, but why track us down at all?  Nothing terribly exciting going on around here.” Jesse says when Serafin finally puts her down.

 

“Got a proposition for ya, if you’re interested.  Could use your help.”

 

A proposition is putting it mildly.

 

Hanzo isn’t sure what Jesse will say, but his answer will always be the same.

 

_ If you go, I go. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a wild ride, I hope you had a good time my friends. Feel free to come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en) or ask for my discord and scream at me there. Tell me nice things!

**Author's Note:**

> Gimmie love my dudes, I'm thirsty.


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